Love Inspired Suspense June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Exit Strategy\Payback\Covert Justice (7 page)

“If you're interested in staying alive, it should.”

“I'm interested in
both
of us staying alive.”

“That's a nice sentiment, Lark, but sentiment doesn't keep people from dying.”

“So, you're saying that if John returns with an army of security members, it's every man for himself? You'll fight for your life and I'll fight for mine?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“If he comes back, I'll fight for you. You'll fight for you. Between the two of us, we should be able to keep you safe.”

“Who's going to keep
you
safe?” she asked.

“I'm pretty good at doing that myself,” he said, taking her arm and leading her around the side of the building. The Mustang was running on empty, but there might be enough fuel to get them to Main Street. If not, they'd walk, hugging the shadows and staying out of sight. It would take a half hour tops. They'd have another four to burn before Stella and Boone arrived. Chance had researched the area, found a small diner that was open all night. It wasn't an ideal place to wait things out, but it was better than being a half mile outside town sitting in the empty lot of a gas station.

“I'm pretty good at doing it, too, Cyrus,” Lark said as she lowered herself into the passenger seat, reached into the back and retrieved the gun. “But even people who are good at taking care of themselves, people who have always kept themselves safe, need help sometimes. I learned that while I was lying in that trailer praying that God would send someone to help. It wasn't a fun lesson, but I'm not going to forget it anytime soon. I'm not going to forget that you were the one He sent either. And if you're ever in trouble, if you're ever at the point where you really do need someone to step in, I can guarantee you that I'll be the first to show up.”

She closed the door before he could respond.

It was for the best. Cyrus wasn't sure what he would have said. The cold hard facts were that Essex had sent him to find Lark. No mystery there, no supernatural intervention. Nothing but a guy who cared contacting a buddy who could help. But there was more to life than fact. More to any situation than the simple easy explanation. He'd learned that working at HEART. Jackson and Chance Miller were hardcore former military men. They knew how to fight. They knew how to win. Somehow, they also knew how to trust in something beyond themselves.

That had been difficult for Cyrus to accept, and even more difficult for him to understand. Up until he'd begun working for Chance, he hadn't believed in much more than a faraway God who barely checked in on His people.

In the past few years, he'd discovered something different. Faith was the secret ingredient that turned hopeless situations into salvageable ones, that made people who thought there was no way out look for a way.

He didn't have to ask to know what had kept Lark going during the dark hours of the night when there was no one to hear her cries, no one to help her.

He slid into the driver's seat, started the engine, pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road that led to town. No security cameras there. No houses. Nothing between them and town but the narrow road and the trees that lined it. If they were going to be ambushed, this was where it would happen.

Nothing moved, but his skin crawled, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Someone was watching. If it was John, he had a gun, and he wouldn't hesitate to use it. Not if he thought it could get him what he wanted.

The first shot exploded through the back window, whizzed by Cyrus's head and lodged in the windshield.

“Get down!” he shouted as he stomped on the accelerator.

Lark dropped down, but she didn't stay down. She reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the clip that he'd taken from the handgun.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Making sure he doesn't follow us,” she responded as she unrolled the window, leaned out and fired a round into the street.

SEVEN

I
t had been two years since she'd fired a handgun.

Two years since she and Joshua had stood in the practice field at the east edge of the compound, loading, firing, loading again. He'd drilled her on safety, insisted that she know everything there was to know about firearms.

She'd been eager to learn because she'd loved him.

She'd never expected the knowledge to come in handy.

She squeezed the trigger again, aiming for the road behind them. No cars there. No chance that she'd hit someone. She didn't want to hurt John. She wanted to scare him into backing off.

“We're almost at the town limits,” Cyrus said, the words gritty and rough.

He wasn't happy.

She didn't care.

She'd told him the truth. She wasn't going to be content to stay safe while he put himself in danger. She'd do her part. She'd take as many risks as he did, as many as were necessary to make sure both of them made it out alive.

“Unload and put the gun away,” he continued.

“He might—”

“You want to be a team, then you follow orders, Lark. The orders are to stand down. We've got houses coming up. You want to kill some kid who's sleeping in bed?”

“I'm not a fool,” she said, settling back into the seat and removing the clip. She shoved it into her pocket, put the gun in the glove compartment. John wasn't a fool either. There was no way he'd attempt a shoot-out in town. If he was following them, he'd keep his distance, bide his time until he could take Cyrus out and bring Lark back to Amos Way.

An image flashed through her mind, the picture so vivid, she gagged. Blood on the floor. Blood on the wall. Joshua lying facedown, his fingers limp on the butt of his rifle.

She closed her eyes, but the image was there, embedded in her brain.

Cyrus touched her hand, his fingers warm and dry against her cool, clammy skin.

“Breathe,” he said like he had before, and her airways opened, oxygen flooding lungs she didn't know were starved for air.

“Again,” he commanded, and she inhaled, exhaled the memories.

“I'm fine,” she managed to say even though her insides were shaking, her head pounding.

“You're also good with a handgun,” he responded, his hand slipping away from hers. She felt cold in its absence, her bones aching with it. She pulled his coat around her, but it didn't ease her chill.

“My husband taught me.”

“From what I've heard, he was a good guy.”

“Who did you hear that from?” she asked, but she wasn't surprised that he'd heard about Joshua. People in Amos Way had loved Lark's husband. He'd been raised in their midst, had come back to teach their children. He'd supported the community, espoused its ideals and agreed with the foundational beliefs it had been built on. They hadn't known about his doubts, they'd had no idea that he'd planned to fulfill his obligation, pay the community back for his college education and then leave. He'd loved the people in the compound, but leaving to achieve his education had changed him. In the end, it had gotten him killed.

“John. He needed a reason for locking you up. He told the community that you'd gone a little crazy after Joshua's death, started breaking into houses, stealing things. He said he couldn't blame you for it. Joshua was one in a million.”

“He
was
one in a million,” she responded, her eyes burning, her throat tight.

“We all are, Lark,” he said quietly. “There isn't one of us who doesn't have something unique to offer the world. I'm not taking anything away from your husband, but it seemed odd to me that John sang his praises so loudly. He isn't the kind of guy to praise anyone.”

“They grew up together. Were as close as brothers.”

“Do you think John pulled the trigger and killed your husband?” he asked, the question blunt and unapologetic. Unlike other people who learned that she was a widow, he didn't seem to mind probing Lark's wounds.

She nodded, the pain in her head exploding into a hundred tiny knife points stabbing through her skull. “Yes.”

“Did you tell the police that?”

“I told them that I didn't think he'd shot himself. There was no evidence to prove that I was right. It looked like an accident. They assumed it was.”

“But you think differently.”

“Joshua...changed the last six months we were at Amos Way. He was quiet and withdrawn. Up until that point, we'd shared everything. No secrets between us. It was one of the rules of our marriage.” She smiled a little thinking about it, remembering how young and naive they'd been. So in love and so convinced that their love would be enough to get them through anything.

“Did you ask him about it?” he asked as he passed the River Fork welcome sign.

They'd made it to town. She should feel relieved, but she just felt tired, sad and sick. “So many times that we both got tired of the conversation.”

“And?”

“He said that he didn't want me to know. He didn't want anything to happen to me. I wanted to leave the compound, but he insisted that he had things under control.”

“What things?”

“One of his really good friends had been questioning some of Elijah's policies. Ethan didn't like the way the compound's finances were being handled.”

“You mentioned Ethan before.” He stopped at a quiet intersection, turned left onto Main Street. The town slept peacefully, streetlights illuminating pretty yards and 1940s bungalows. She and Josh had only visited River Fork a handful of times. Elijah didn't like community members to be too exposed to the excess the world had to offer. Simple lives spent relying on God and on each other. That's what he offered the people who found Amos Way. It had all sounded so nice when Joshua had described the little community.

“Ethan,” she said, “is the key to everything. He called a council meeting and demanded that Elijah give an accounting of how community funds were being spent. Elijah agreed, but Ethan disappeared before it happened. He went missing during a hunting trip. A few of the guys had heard him talking about leaving Amos Way. Most people assumed that's what happened. He went on the hunting trip and just walked away.”

“Very convenient for Elijah.”

“That's what Joshua said. He seemed to be the only one saying it. Everyone else was content to believe that a family man, a guy devoted to his wife and kids, would leave them.”

“And no one else was interested in forcing Elijah to account for the community funds, right? Your husband started digging around, he made people uncomfortable and then he died in an accidental shooting?”

“Right,” she responded, her voice raspy and hot. She hated talking about what had happened to Joshua, hated the memories that were always just a thought away.

“I'm sorry, Lark,” he said as he pulled into the parking lot of a small diner.

Everyone was sorry when they heard the story, but sorry couldn't change it. Sorry couldn't bring Joshua back. It couldn't bring Ethan back.

“When are your friends arriving?” She changed the subject because that was easier than continuing down the path they were going.

“Their ETA is four-thirty. If Stella is driving, they'll be here sooner. If Boone is, they'll be here on time.” He turned off his headlights, drove around to the back of the building and edged the Mustang in close to hedges that butted up against the lot.

“So, we're just going to sit in the car and wait?”

“I'm going to sit and wait.” He eased the jacket from her shoulders, used it as a blanket, draping it over her torso. “You're going to rest. Put the seat back. Close your eyes.”

That wasn't going to happen.

Not while she was still conscious and breathing.

“Do you really think I could lie here and sleep knowing that John is stalking us?”

“I think you could try.”

“The way I see things, two sets of eyes are better than one. If John tries to sneak up on us—”

“I'm a good bodyguard and an ace shot. If John shows up, I'll take care of him.”

“If he shows up, I don't plan on sleeping through it,” she replied, her skin crawling at the thought of John creeping across the parking lot, sneaking up behind them, aiming his gun.

“Suit yourself,” Cyrus responded, his eyes black in the darkness, his lashes long and thick. She'd said he had a pretty face, but it wasn't pretty. Not by a long shot. He looked tough and confident, determined and just a little dangerous. Not the kind of guy she'd ever liked to spend time with. She'd always preferred men who were more subtle in their masculinity. Strong but not overpowering, able to take care of themselves and the people they loved but without the rough edges and tough veneer.

“You're staring,” she pointed out, shifting uncomfortably.

“So are you.”

“I'm trying to figure out what you want.” Everyone wanted something. It was a lesson she'd learned from watching her mother jump from one bad relationship to another, one self-absorbed loser to another.

“I want to repay my debt to Essex.”

“And?”

“Does there have to be more?” He brushed strands of hair from her cheek, his fingers glancing across the tender spot near her jaw. “If there does, then I'll just say that I want to get you home in one piece and I want to make sure you stay that way. That means bringing Elijah Clayton down. So, I guess I want that, too.”

“What do you want for you?” She wanted to swipe her hand across her cheek, wipe away the warmth that lingered where his fingers had been.

“Who says I want anything for me?”

“Are you going to tell me that you don't?”

“How about this, Lark? You tell me your secrets, and I'll tell you mine.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That we all have something we're hiding. You fell for Joshua when you met him in college. You were both intelligent, both hardworking, you could have settled anywhere, done anything, but you decided to get married in Amos Way, live there, teach there.”

“Joshua had an obligation to pay the community back for his college education. He'd promised to return and teach at the schoolhouse.”

“Promises are as easily broken as they are made.”

“Not by Joshua.”

“Maybe not, but he could have found another way to pay the debt. He would have. If you'd wanted him to.”

“You never even met him. You have no idea what he'd have done,” she bit out, the migraine pulsing furiously behind her eye, her stomach constricting. She hated that he was right, but he was. She'd thought the same thing a thousand times since Joshua's death, lived with the guilt of the choices she'd made.

“I know what it's like to be in love,” he countered. “I also know what it's like to live with regrets. Yours aren't going to change anything.”

He'd hit the nail on the head, pinpointed exactly why she'd returned to Amos Way even though she'd known she shouldn't, even though that still small voice had been whispering that she should stay away.

Her stomach turned, and she knew she was going to be sick. Right there in the Mustang she and Joshua had used during college, the one they'd driven to Amos Way, music blasting from the stereo, voices mingling with the songs that were playing.

She opened the door, fell out onto the pavement, dry heaves tearing from her gut as her palms skidded across the blacktop. She didn't feel it, didn't feel anything but the horrible pounding pain in her head and gut-twisting ache of her empty stomach.

* * *

He was an idiot.

It was as simple as that.

Too focused on the goal to realize he was pushing too hard.

Cyrus crouched beside Lark, pulled her hair back from her face as she retched. She had nothing in her stomach, but her body heaved, her muscles jerking with the force of it.

He held her shoulders, kept her from slamming her head into the pavement. There was nothing much else he could do but hold her steady and keep his eyes on the shadows. They were vulnerable there, hidden from the street but easy enough to see if someone was looking.

A cold breeze sent leaves skittering across the pavement, a dog barked, a car engine revved. Life went on around them, but at the dark edge of the parking lot, it was just the two of them.

She took a deep shuddering breath, jumped to her feet, probably would have fallen down again if he hadn't slid his arm around her waist, pulled her into his chest.

“Slow down,” he ordered, sliding his hand up her spine, urging her to lean into him. She stood in his arms, stiff and unyielding, every muscle in her body tense.

“Relax. I don't bite,” he ground out, his hand kneading the tense muscles at her nape.

“I just want to go home,” she responded so softly he almost didn't hear.

They did something to his heart, those words. Made him think of things he was better off forgetting. Made him remember that hot humid night in Colombia. Megan Wallace lying on the ground. He'd touched her jugular, felt the thready pulse, known she didn't have long, known that the mother who'd sent HEART to find her would never see her alive again.

Your mother loves you
, he'd said, even though he hadn't thought Megan could hear.
She wants you to know it.

I love her, too
, she'd said, her eyes opening for one brief moment.
But it's time for me to go home.

He shook the memory away, refused to allow it to play through his head.

Most missions were successful. Some were not.

It was best to stay as unemotional as possible, keep his mind focused and his feelings in check.

Lark deserved something more than emotionlessness, though. She needed something more. She'd lost her husband. She'd lost faith in a community that was supposed to be a religious nirvana. She'd been given a rough shake, and now she was with him—a guy who knew nothing about softness, nothing about gentleness.