Lost in Shadows

LOST IN SHADOWS

CJ Lyons

Praise for CJ Lyons:

“Everything a great thriller should be—action packed, authentic, and intense.” ~#1 New York Times bestselling author Lee Child

“A compelling new voice in thriller writing…I love how the characters come alive on every page.” ~
New York Times
bestselling author Jeffery Deaver 

“Top Pick! A fascinating and intense thriller.” ~ RT Book Reviews

“An intense, emotional thriller…(that) climbs to the edge of intensity.” ~National Examiner

“A perfect blend of romance and suspense. My kind of read.” ~#
1 New York Times
Bestselling author Sandra Brown 

“Highly engaging characters, heart-stopping scenes…one great rollercoaster ride that will not be stopping anytime soon.” ~Bookreporter.com

“
Adrenalin pumping.” ~The Mystery Gazette

“Riveting.” ~Publishers Weekly Beyond Her Book

Lyons “is a master within the genre.” ~Pittsburgh Magazine

“Will leave you breathless and begging for more.” ~Romance Novel TV

“A great fast-paced read...Not to be missed.” ~Book Addict

“
Breathtakingly fast-paced.” ~Publishers Weekly

“Simply superb…riveting drama…a perfect ten.” ~Romance Reviews Today

“Characters with beating hearts and three dimensions.” ~Newsday

“A pulse-pounding adrenalin rush!” ~Lisa Gardner

“Packed with adrenalin.” ~David Morrell

“…Harrowing, emotional, action-packed and brilliantly realized.” ~Susan Wiggs

“Explodes on the page…I absolutely could not put it down.” ~Romance Readers’ Connection

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. 

Copyright 2009, CJ Lyons

Legacy Books

Cover art: Pat Ryan

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Legacy Books. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.

Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

Library of Congress Case # 1-273031561

LOST IN SHADOWS

CJ Lyons

PROLOGUE

The nurse, her face hidden by a surgical mask, moved to strap Lucky’s left arm down. Lucky grabbed her wrist. She turned to him, her eyes wide with surprise as well as more than a hint of fear. 

He forced himself to relax, to release her.

“No restraints.” He hoped she attributed the tremor in his voice to the fact that he was naked under his flimsy hospital gown. And the cardiac catheterization room was freezing. “Please.” 

Both his hands shook uncontrollably—no way he could hide that, so he didn’t bother trying. Besides, once she saw the panorama of Technicolor bruises blossoming over the rest of his body, she’d quickly figure out that he was no ordinary patient. Maybe she already had. 

Instead of arguing with him, she averted her eyes and backed away as if Lucky was a load of nitro, armed and ready to go off at the slightest provocation. He lay back on the hard metal table with its too-thin mattress and stared into the bright operating light, willing himself to not think, not remember, not feel. Just be.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

And wait to see what the rest of his life would hold. Once the doctors finished their poking and prodding and pinching, taking a piece of his sorely abused heart muscle with them, they would render their verdict: either he’d be labeled a cardiac cripple at age thirty, forced to take medical disability and leave the ATF, or they’d let him get back to work.

To the life he’d left behind when he and Chase Westin went undercover three months ago, trying to get inside The Preacher’s operation. To his simple, well-ordered life governed by the laws of chemistry and physics, where he spent his days analyzing and reconstructing bits and pieces of bombs.

A life that seemed like another world after what happened two days ago on Christmas Eve.

Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t think. Don’t remember. Don’t feel.

“Ready, Mr. Cavanaugh?” His cardiologist’s chipper voice pierced Lucky’s awareness. 

Before Lucky could answer, the heart specialist drew back the sheet that covered Lucky’s legs and pushed aside his gown, pouring icy cold brown soap over Lucky’s groin and thighs. The nurse standing beside him looked down and made a small noise, muffled by her mask, as she saw the damage inflicted on Lucky’s body.

Lucky ignored her. Only two days and he was already getting used to blocking out other people’s reactions when they learned what had happened to him. What The Preacher and his man, Fergus, had done to him. 

Hell, he’d cheated death. 

Handling the shock and morbid curiosity that came with surviving should have been easy.

Easy as breathing.

“Just relax, Agent Cavanaugh,” the cardiologist said as he pressed his fingers against Lucky’s femoral artery with one hand. The nurse slapped a large, wicked appearing syringe into his other hand, the overhead light making its needle gleam like a steel dagger. “The midazolam should start working now. You won’t be unconscious but you will relax and probably won’t remember anything.” 

Lucky closed his eyes and sank back onto the scrawny excuse for a pillow, wishing the doctor’s magic potion could truly erase the memories, stop the nightmares that flashed before his eyes in a constant, never-ending instant replay.

Breathe in, breathe out.

His brain grew foggy and despite his best efforts, he began to remember...

Christmas Eve, two nights ago

Lucky’s muddled thoughts slowly coalesced as brain and body rejoined. Pain stabbed through his arms and legs. A jackhammer pounded behind his eyes. 

It was freezing. Then he realized he was naked except for his boxers. They’d come for him while he slept. He remembered fighting, struggling, the crash of breaking glass, a bright blue jolt of electricity shooting through him. His legs crumbling, his awareness spiraling down into blackness.

Lucky cautiously opened one eye. The pounding in his head increased momentarily, then resumed its previous rumble, so he opened the other. 

A wave of nausea hit him. He tried to lean forward but couldn’t. He laid on his back, hogtied, arms and legs pinned beneath the weight of his body, duct tape binding them together. He blinked, swallowed back the nausea and drew in a deep breath to clear his vision.

He was on the dirt floor of some kind of prefab hut. A single dim light bulb hung overhead. Abandoned mine, the fact wavered in his consciousness.

Lucky had the sudden image of dark shafts with deep, deep drops into the nether lands of the earth. Great place to dispose of a body. 

A steel-toed boot nudged his ribs. “Wake up, sleeping beauty,” came a high-pitched voice that could have belonged to a man or woman. The nudge turned into a bruising kick. “Now!” the voice commanded. “I didn’t give you that big of jolt.”

Lucky rolled away from the next kick, this one would have broken a few bones if he’d allowed it to connect. He opened his eyes. Crouched over him was a flinty-eyed man with a large head, long, gangling arms and thick legs connected to a squat trunk. He wasn’t a dwarf, but was short and bow-legged, like the deputy in that old TV show,
Gunsmoke
. Only a helluva lot uglier.

The man grinned down at Lucky, his breath fetid enough that Lucky gagged. “Hey, Preacher,” he shouted, escalating the crashing in Lucky’s head to a deafening crescendo, “secret agent man is awake!” 

He held a hand up with a small device. Blue lightning arced between two terminals as he teased Lucky with the stun gun, feinting toward Lucky’s naked skin and laughing as Lucky pulled back.

“So you remember my toy?” the man said. “You’re gonna see a lot more of it.”

“Who are you?” Lucky asked, maintaining his cover. “What do you want?” He tried to keep his voice from quivering, but it was hard to do when his body was shivering uncontrollably. 

All he could think of was the FBI agent The Preacher’s fanatic militia group, The Crusade, had tortured and murdered six months ago.
Chase
, he told himself, his stomach now contorting into a strangled knot.
He had to protect Chase, couldn’t give them anything that would blow Chase’s cover too. No sense both of them getting killed.

“Name’s Fergus,” the man told him with a laugh. 

Another man entered the small shack, his shadow darkening Lucky’s vision. 

“I expect you can guess who I am,” the second man’s voice was rich and compelling. A voice that had built a terrorist network bent on destroying the United States in a so-called Second Revolution.

The Preacher. He held his palm out and Fergus reluctantly parted with the stun gun. 

The hair on Lucky’s neck stood at attention as The Preacher squatted down beside him, staring into Lucky’s eyes as if weighing his worth.

“I’m a busy man, Agent Cavanaugh,” The Preacher said, his tone as hypnotic as a cobra’s dance. “But I promise you, I won’t shirk my duties. You will either tell me who you are working with. Or,” Lucky tried to ignore Fergus’ insane grin of delight as the dwarf peered over The Preacher’s shoulder, “you’ll die a most unpleasant death.”

Before Lucky could respond, The Preacher planted the stun gun over Lucky’s heart. A surge of pain shot through his chest and up into his left shoulder. Lucky cried out as his muscles locked into spasm. His heart stuttered for a moment, then raced. 

Lucky lay there, panting, cold sweat breaking out over his body as the pain slowly subsided. A residual pins and needles sensation continued down his left arm and his hand flopped uselessly behind his back.

And so the night began…

Hours later, a woman called Lucky’s name, beckoning him from the dark comfort he had enveloped himself in. She stood, surrounded by a lush forest of trees, streams of sunlight dancing through the rich canopy of leaves to illuminate her in golden radiance. 

Long, thick dark hair swirled over her shoulders, but could not camouflage the rich curves of her body. She held out a hand, beckoning for him to join her.

The forest felt primeval, removed from time and space. Lucky stretched his hand, yearning to join the raven-haired beauty. Pain came at him from every direction, but still he tried to reach her. 

Their fingers touched and joined. She was almost as tall as he was, their hands fit together perfectly, and suddenly the pain was gone. For one blissful moment, she was his entire universe and he was at peace. 

Not the calmness of surrender. Rather a deep, certain knowledge that he would survive. 

He had to, how else would he ever get the chance to meet her? He couldn’t give up, not now that he had something to live for, something more than loyalty to a cause or to a friend.

She was his life and he was going to find her again. All Lucky had to do was stay alive.

He choked on his own blood, and her image faded as Lucky coughed himself awake. 

The shack was empty.
Where did his Lady go?
His thoughts were hazy, and he fought to focus his vision.