Countdown (6 page)

“Only the last bit.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know how to check for a tail?”

James sighed.
Thanks, Derrick.
You'd think a NSA agent would learn to lower his voice over cell phones. “Thanks to television, doesn't everyone?” It served as the most evasive answer he'd given in the past three years, ever since he had left the NSA. “You were right, though. They were looking for someone to use as leverage.”

The light turned green. He swung the Charger around the bend and moved immediately to the left-turning lane to get back on the freeway. Horns honked behind him. Rachel leaned over to look out the side mirrors. “Black sedan,” she muttered. “Two of them.”

James gunned it through a yellow turn light and merged back onto the freeway. “Make sure their seat belts are on correctly.”

Rachel gulped. “They are,” she whispered.

He checked his mirror. The traffic wasn't as thick heading west, but it wasn't light, either. It'd been years since he trained in driving techniques and even then it was a mere overview. No one at the NSA had expected him to be anywhere but a computer. He shifted the car and passed the registered speed limit. The sedans merged in the lanes behind him.

Semitrucks dominated the lanes ahead of him. He stepped on the speed. The moment he passed one truck, he changed lanes until he was right in front of it and behind another. He flicked his gaze to each mirror. The black sedans were approaching fast on either side. Up ahead to the right was another semitruck.

“They're gaining on us,” Rachel said.

James didn't respond. If he lost his concentration, he feared he'd make a costly mistake. The truck behind him turned on the right-turn signal, forcing his hand. Being sandwiched in between two big rigs made it hard to see the traffic signs, but to the right he caught a glimpse. The second street exit was in half a mile. His mind ran through math calculations in a half second. At seventy miles an hour it'd take him four-tenths of a minute to get there.

“Hang on,” he mumbled. James pulled up to the bumper of the semitruck in front of him. He crossed into the left lane, zoomed past the semi and glided back into the lane at such a small margin the semi behind him laid on the horn, but James had already crossed into the next lane, sandwiched between two other semitrucks. They were passing the exit. He cranked the wheel. The tires against the ridges in the asphalt made a horrible noise, as he was on the outer edge of the road.

Rachel gasped. Horns honked, but there wasn't the telltale sound of steel crunching. No accidents, but the sedans hadn't been able to follow them. They'd missed the exit. “You did it.” Rachel shook her head. “No way you learned to drive like that from TV.”

“We're not out of the woods yet.” James took a left then three right turns to make sure no one else was following him.

“Do you know where we'll go?” Rachel asked.

“I don't know about you, but the boys and I are going to start eating these seat cushions if we don't get some food soon. I've got some dried fruit in a snack container in the console to hold us until we get some dinner.” Speaking of the boys...they were quiet. They hadn't even commented or acted scared during his crazy driving. Something was up. In the dim twilight, he squinted to make out the boys eagerly sucking on white sticks.

He groaned. He took back the thought of something finally going right. “Oh, Rachel. What have you done?”

“What?” She looked behind her shoulder at the boys. “The lollipops?”

“Real terror is twins on a sugar high followed by a sugar crash.” He tried to grin, but only half of his mouth cooperated in his attempt to lighten the mood. Adrenaline still rushed through his veins at so many near misses.

Rachel's mouth formed a soft
o.
“I'm sure they're no worse than when I get hungry.” She worried her forehead and tapped her fingernail onto her lips, clearly in deep thought. “Somewhere unexpected,” she murmured.

Assuming he had lost the cars behind him, what they really needed was somewhere the boys would feel comfortable, somewhere they could weather the sugar high and crash while he got them some food... He turned around. “You've given me an idea of where we can go until Derrick calls.”

Five minutes later he turned into the empty parking lot of their church.

Rachel nodded. “Unexpected and yet fitting.”

“I'll need your help to hide the car.” He pulled to the farthest corner of the parking lot next to a nondescript aluminum shed. “We can remove the lawnmowers and hide them in the bushes behind it.”

“Then move the car into the shed. Smart idea. Think it'll fit?”

“It's going to be tight.”

“James, I only have a key to the building.”

He shrugged. “I'm the deacon overseeing maintenance and youth. I have keys to the shed. And I'll take responsibility if anything happens.”

They each grabbed a lawn mower and pulled it into hiding while the boys crunched down on the remainder of the lollipops. As James pulled the car into the unlit space, he silently prayed that hiding the car was a good idea. If the men found them in the church, with the car locked up in the shed, it'd be that much harder to escape.

The last bits of twilight faded into the night. Rachel moved without his direction as she hoisted Caleb onto her hip. He did the same with Ethan and locked the padlock to the shed.

They moved as a team, the children silent, to the back entrance. Rachel slipped her church key from her purse and unlocked the glass door. They stepped in and the door closed behind them with the aid of the automatic hydraulic arm.

Rachel whispered a prayer into the darkness. “Please protect us.”

SIX

T
he dim light from outside outlined a path on the commercial carpet underneath her feet. Rachel turned the corner to walk into the heart of the building. An exit sign at the far end of the darkened hall glowed green. She inhaled the church smell: a mixture of old books, candles, oiled wood and a pine-scented cleaner. The combination was oddly soothing, maybe because on weeks she couldn't give up her anxiety, once she worshipped, she left feeling lighter.

Today won the all-time anxiety award, though. It even beat the time a drug dealer had swung a gun on her uncle and demanded a larger percentage of the profits. Rachel had hidden underneath a bed until one of her uncle's men killed the dealer.

Rachel stiffened. It did no good to replay a past she couldn't fix. She worked hard to focus on positives throughout the day. When her clients started in on a rant or venting, which it seemed ninety-nine percent of her customers enjoyed, Rachel pulled out her favorite heartwarming or humorous story of the week she'd find on the internet. Sometimes she borrowed whatever anecdote the preacher used on Sunday. The other hairstylists teased her for it, but as Rachel reminded them, at least she changed the story each week.

“One second,” James said. “I need to make sure the doors are locked.”

The soothing feelings of being inside the church dissipated in a heartbeat. Despite the thick walls surrounding her, someone was still on the hunt for them. She couldn't truly let down her guard yet.

Caleb's little hands went around her neck. He twisted in her arms and laid his cheek against her shoulder. His fine blond hair smelled like apple blossoms. He didn't wiggle, he didn't squirm...he trusted his safety in her arms. Rachel's throat swelled, and it hurt to swallow. Or maybe the little guy just found the same comfort she did in the church. She blinked back the emotion. Yes. That had to be why.

Nearing the next corner she twisted to see James over Caleb's head. “Where to?”

“The youth wing,” he answered. “There's a room without windows. I filled the fridge for youth night snacks. The boys can play and eat. No one will have a problem if I replenish the stock later.”

Meaning he paid for it. Rachel had never heard the man brag, but she knew that James went above and beyond in serving. Was it because he genuinely wanted to or did James have to stay busy to stop from thinking about his wife?

He passed her in the hall, but not before she caught a whiff of citrus aftershave complete with herbal and cedar notes. She followed the outline of his form until he stopped at a corner and stepped into what she presumed must be the youth room. He flipped a switch.

“Cover your eyes a moment,” she warned Caleb. He curled into her neck without argument as she closed her own eyes waiting for her pupils to adjust slightly to the light before she opened them. “Okay. You shouldn't get a headache now if you open.”

He popped up to a sitting position in her arms. Rows and rows of couches, all in varying degrees of decay, filled the room. Each couch had either sagging cushions, ripped upholstery or more throw pillows than she could count. Caleb's legs wiggled. She grinned. “You know where you are, don't you?”

The moment his feet touched ground, Caleb's little sneakers ran after his dad. “Dad, can we have Popsicles?”

Ethan bucked against James's arms until he also joined Caleb on the ground.

“No, not tonight. What about mini calzones?”

Rachel's stomach gurgled.

Caleb giggled and grabbed his own belly. “Rar,” he growled. “Your tummy needs food,” he said, nodding authoritatively.

James turned, his face apologetic.

She laughed. “He's not wrong.”

He pointed to a small kitchenette behind her. Six round portable tables and folding chairs fit on the tiled area of the room. He crossed to the three cabinets and opened the middle one. Inside he found paper plates, plastic cups and napkins. “It's not gourmet, but I thought microwaved mini calzones might hold us over until we can make something a little more substantial.”

“If you're worried about me, don't. I had planned a menu of junk food tonight.” She crossed back to the doorway they'd entered. Having the entrance to the room wide open seemed like an unnecessary vulnerability. If someone had followed them she wanted as many warnings as possible. She kicked the doorstop out of the way and closed the brown door, even though it was without a lock.

He raised an eyebrow but turned back to the kitchenette. “I thought you cooked.” He opened the freezer and pulled out the bag of mini calzones. He hadn't exaggerated. Popsicles, ice cream bars, chicken nuggets and frozen pizzas took every inch of the freezer. They would barely make a dent.

The boys giggled so loud she almost didn't answer. They jumped from one couch to the next in a race to the back of the room. “I do cook but not every night...usually on weekends. It's not very fun being on my feet after a full day.”

James set the microwave timer and watched it count down. He turned to the clock on the wall. “I thought all our extra turns and side roads took up more time than that. Thirty-five minutes to go until Derrick calls.” His shoulders dropped. “The launch is scheduled very soon. Whatever happens, this can't go on long.”

She shrugged. What else was there to say? He pulled out the first plate and called the boys while he microwaved a second plate filled with food. The boys found a seat and sat expectantly. James sliced the calzones in two. “Okay. Five each. Remember to blow.”

The boys each took a giant breath before aiming a blast of air at their calzones. Marinara sauce splattered to the edge of the plate. Her stomach rumbled again. She'd lost out on the burrito, and her cream-cheese jalapeño poppers were still sitting on top of her stove at home.

James watched her with a bemused smile. “You said you don't have family here. Where do they live?”

The humor she'd felt a moment ago disappeared into a vacuum. “No family. I moved here a year ago.” To get away from her family, in fact, but he didn't need to know that so she went on the defensive. “And my friends...well, I think of my colleagues as friends, but really I don't know anyone well enough that I'd feel comfortable crashing at their house.”

James turned his eyes onto the microwave. “Really? That's surprising.”

She tilted her head. The tone of disbelief bothered her, but she wasn't sure why.

“You seem like the type to have lots of friends,” he said.

Did she? A roster of names instantly came to mind. She enjoyed attending movies, parties, concerts and church with them, but she never called them when she was upset or when she needed something. She furrowed her brow. Did that mean they were all shallow friendships?

“I think Derrick is going to give us two options,” James said. “We'll each get a protection detail, or he'll send us to a safe house. I'm hoping for the first option so you have a chance to go somewhere you feel comfortable.”

His words made sense, but something about the way he was attacking the situation bothered her. Her breathing sped up, but she couldn't put a finger on what bothered her about it. “Like I said, I moved here a year ago. I'm not comfortable calling anyone for something like this,” she answered. “I wouldn't want to put them in danger.”

Her leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can understand that. What about a hotel? Think a hotel would let me prepay without a credit card?”

She didn't need to owe him any favors so letting him pay for the hotel was not an option. Except, the last thing she needed was to be spending money not in her budget. “My first choice would be my salon,” she said. “I have a couch, computer and minifridge in my office. Everything a girl could need. Plus, it's in a well-lit area of town. If they assign me protection, I'd be fine there.”

“Really?” He narrowed his eyes. “But is your name associated with the salon? That'd be like a neon target.”

“No. It's associated with a limited liability company. So...I think it's safe. Besides,” she finally said, “the building I'm leasing has an alarm system, and there's a twenty-four-hour dry cleaner right next to me. I think I'd be okay.”

“You're not taking in account the power of an internet search. I could easily find out you set up the LLC. Your name has to be out there to build your clientele.” He inhaled deeply, pressing his shoulders back. “We'll have to find another solution,” he said.

She opened her mouth to argue that most people weren't him, but he probably knew better the type of men they were up against so she nodded, hoping that put his personal questions at rest.

He pulled out their food. “So absolutely no family?”

Rachel's shoulders sagged. She should've known he wouldn't let it go. James was an analytical, efficient guy that never started anything he didn't intend to finish...which reminded her. “Hey, why did you leave me high and dry this week?”

His chin pulled back, as if surprised by the question.

“When you went to church without me,” she clarified.

“Oh...that.” He split the heated calzones onto two plates. “People thought we were dating.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “What?”

* * *

James placed a calzone straight into his mouth—partly to buy himself some time to collect his thoughts—and he couldn't wait any longer to eat something. The sauce was unfortunately at molten-lava temperature. He opened his mouth. “Hot.”

His pain didn't dissuade Rachel. “Yeah. I'm pretty sure you knew that would burn your mouth. Bad stall technique. Back to the dating?” Her hands were on her hips, her blue eyes wide and the chestnut hair from her ponytail draped lazily over her left shoulder.

He shrugged. “I thought you knew. When I first suggested you should ride with us, it just seemed the right thing to do, the neighborly thing to do. You had been a regular attender, we were neighbors, it'd save gas, be better for the environment—”

“Are you saying that driving together is what the kidnap—” She shot a glance to the boys who happily devoured their meal while they forecasted who would win their next couch jump contest. “You think that's why the man who came into my house said we were an item?”

He shrugged. “I'm afraid it might've contributed.”

She dropped her hands from her defensive stance and blinked several times as if digesting the idea. She took a step forward and accepted the plate of food while he poured them each a plastic cup of root beer. “I'm still not following. Why did you stop taking me to church all of a sudden? Is it because you knew this might happen?”

“No, of course not.” He sighed, wishing he didn't need to explain himself. “Last week I overheard that new guy—”

“Carl.”

“Yeah, the one you've been dating. I heard him tell you he wanted to start giving you rides.”

Rachel cringed. “Dating? We went on one date. And he did say that, but did you eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation?”

His jaw tensed at her tone. “I hardly call being in the lobby of the church with a coffee eavesdropping. Half of the people in the room likely heard. And, no, I didn't hear the rest of the conversation.”

She flushed. “Just because he asked me didn't mean I'd automatically say yes.”

He held his hands out. “You're dating him, so I assumed—”

“Again, not dating him. It was one dinner. And since when do you assume something like that? I'm not trying to be rude, but I've never known you to do that.” She tilted her head, confusion creasing her forehead.

He pulled back. “I've been told I don't always pick up on signals very well.”

“By whom?” she pressed.

Every woman in his life flashed through his thoughts. That probably wouldn't be a helpful thing to say, though. “My mom pointed out that two single people driving to church together would give the appearance of dating.” He waved a hand between them.

She pulled her chin back and curled her lip. “You went to your mom about this?” Her tone belayed her disbelief.

“No, I didn't go to my mom about this.” He mimicked her tone. “I happened to mention on one of our Sunday phone calls that I was car-pooling with my neighbor to church.”

She cocked her head and her eyes softened. “You talk to your mom every Sunday?”

“Studies show it improves your health if you talk to your mom once a week. I have my theories about why, but—”

“Okay, but back up.” She shook her head. “For the record, I like that you don't make assumptions. I really do. Before now I thought of you as a ‘what you see is what you get' kind of guy. You've always been a straight shooter, at least with me. It's refreshing and why I said yes to car-pooling with you in the first place. So I'm sure your mom meant well, but I don't see why that should change just because you overheard—”

The end of her sentence didn't register. She liked he was a straight shooter? It surprised him. No female had ever appreciated that about him. Why did she? Because she liked him or, rather, liked that he felt safe? It was ridiculous to think she'd consider falling for a guy like him, a guy with a ready-made family.

His thoughts shifted to her wondering why things should change.
Because I've never been so drawn to you before, that's why. I feel a jolt of attraction every time I look at you.
He moved his focus to the bubbles on top of his soda and retuned his mind to what she was saying.

“Just because I went on one date with Carl,” Rachel continued, “doesn't mean he gets to decide how I get to church and back. Besides, I didn't like how possessive he was acting, and we never had date number two. So, it's a moot point.”

James raised an eyebrow. She ended it because the guy wanted her to stop car-pooling?

“What?” Rachel asked.

He shook his head and picked up another calzone, gauging if it had cooled down enough yet.