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Chapter One
Nicole Hewett unlocked the back door of her home and stepped into fear.
Arms pinned her in a crushing grip. Shock tore through her system. A large hand clamped over her mouth making it impossible to scream. Gut twisting panic welled up in her throat.
The drawings her kindergarten students colored for her on the last day of school fell from
her fingers and fluttered to the floor. She bit the inside of her cheek trying again to scream. The taste of blood made her stomach lurch. She pried at her assailant’s hands. She lost her footing as she slid on the mangled papers beneath her sandals. Frantic, she tried to break out of his grasp.
He jerked her up against him hard. Her muffled sounds were useless with his hold so fierce. There was no way she could even bite him.
Please. Dear God, no.
Her heart vibrated in her ears. She thrashed at the solid mass wedged between her and the door. Her foot slammed alongside his shin. His vise grip didn’t loosen. He was too strong. Tears of desperation stung her eyes. Thoughts of her parents learning the news she was dead broke her heart.
She wrenched her head to the side and tried to scream again. Nothing worked.
The arm around her neck tightened, choking her.
“Stop fighting me,” he rasped in her ear.
The voice wasn’t familiar.
What does he want?
If she could trick him into thinking she would cooperate, it might be possible to catch him off guard. She closed her eyes and willed her body to relax. It took all of her concentration to regulate her breathing. She dropped her hands to her sides and did her best to nod against his chest.
His hold slackened. He shifted his weight.
She made her move. With all the force she could put behind it, she rammed her elbow into his gut.
He doubled slightly, letting out a grunt. When she turned and tried to push him back, a sharp pinprick shot into her right arm. Her eyes widened in horror.
Dear God. No.
His hold firm, he kept his hand pressed over her mouth. “Just give in, sweetheart. Let go. That’s it.”
She shook her head.
“Just relax. Don’t fight it. Come on.”
No. No. Please. What’s happening ?
Heat trailed up her arm like a fire spiraling out of control. Nicole struggled furiously, giving her last bit of strength. He was like a fortress. She managed to claw one of his arms. Her hands pulled at his. He held her firmly against the length of him.
Tears spilled from her eyes.
Against her will, her fingers lost their grip.
No..no.
She strained to keep her eyes open. Focus. Her head drooped slightly. She tried to lift her chin. Her body was so heavy. She stared down at the images her students had drawn for her. They lay crumpled at her feet. Their colors blurred. Her eyes fluttered in their heaviness.
No… I have to…
Warmth from the light faded as shadows claimed her.
# # #
Ian Mulherin tipped the wooden chair back and stretched his long legs out on the porch railing of his log cabin. He scanned the row of fragrant pine trees lining the woods in front of him. His ears strained to detect anything out of the norm. Carefree robins trilled their songs of summer, unconcerned. He rolled his neck in hopes of releasing the mounting tension.
He was tired of waiting for the damned phone to ring. There couldn’t be any screw ups. He’d already done his fair share of those, he supposed, if his relationship with his father was anything to gauge. A crack on his right side loosened his neck. He rotated his shoulders. Maybe the last years of his mother’s life would’ve been better if he’d just knuckled under to the old man.
Maybe his partner would still be alive.
The cell phone on his hip vibrated. This was it. The call everything hinged on. He looked at the number and took a deep breath. “Yeah?”
“What’s the status of that little matter I asked you to run down for me?” the voice on the other end demanded.
Ian’s grip tightened on the phone. Show time. “It’s a done deal.”
“You’re sure there won’t be anything to trace back?”
“Acid is a beautiful thing.”
“Good enough.”
The caller rang off. Ian snapped his phone shut. His pulse escalated a notch. He’d pulled off the next phase of his plan. He could feel it. His smile sobered as he glanced down at the angry claw marks running up his right hand. He flexed his fingers and shook his head. Over his years as a FBI agent, he had taken men twice that woman’s size down with more ease. The woman had fought him like a hellion.
He rubbed the cell phone along his jaw line, the day’s growth making a scratchy sound. Why did his boss, Roark, want her killed? What did the woman have on him? Things had started happening within the FBI and it could be traced back to Roark. If the man was on the take, how many others within the organization did it involve?
Questions deserved answers. He smiled. It would be a challenge to find those answers. He loved a challenge.
Ian dropped his feet from the railing and stood. He could feel his muscles ripple along the length of his frame as he stretched. Another week and he’d be off medical leave and could work out again.
Dusk descended, causing shadows to knit their web of darkness. The winding dirt road which led to his ten acres would make it easy to hear if anyone approached by car. A faint sound of an airplane's thunderous roar passed overhead and trailed off. He waited and listened. Once satisfied no one lurked there, he went into the cabin and bolted out the world behind him.
He walked into the oak beamed kitchen he had built with his own hands. Virginia would always be home. He loved the land. It had been his dream to build a cabin on this land once he'd paid it off. Just having that goal in the back of his mind enabled him to endure his work with the FBI more. Four years ago his dream became a reality and he'd built the cabin from the ground up.
Coffee was next on his agenda. Night came all too soon. The demons of the dead would be coming to offer him their nightly company. He rubbed his thumb along his right side out of habit, distracted in thought
How long has it been since I had a good night’s sleep? He shrugged.
Too long to remember. With his cup in one hand, he pulled his shirttail out with the other, and made his way down the hall to the bedroom.
He stopped at the threshold and stared at the unconscious woman handcuffed to his bed. Jaw clenched, his fingers tightened around the handle of the mug. He needed answers her pretty little head held. That was all.
Still, he was distracted by the way her golden hair spilled across his pillow. She looked damn good. In her sleep, she appeared almost angelic. He shook his head, trying to free himself of his thoughts. She was arm candy. He was choosier with his women. This little number had landed herself in trouble because she’d shared a pillow with some scumbag.
He frowned. The sedative should have worn off by now. Restless, he moved further into the room and stood by the bed. He leaned down to pick up her slender wrist and feel for a pulse. Steady. He dropped her hand and rubbed his palm along the leg of his jeans. The memory of her velvety soft skin still lingered. Stepping back, he withdrew to the window, opting to analyze the shadows outside. He took a swig of coffee and reviewed what he knew about her. Brandy Mullins, twenty-four, out of work, parents lived in Connecticut. One sister.
That didn’t give him much. He looked back at the woman who warmed his bed. There were ways of finding out more. He took another drink of his coffee and decided to count them.
Maybe the night wasn’t going to be so lonely after all.
# # #
Nicole was falling and she couldn’t catch herself. Her arms wouldn’t help break her fall. She moaned. Her eyes blinked open. The room was dark, unfamiliar. She ached all over. Her parched throat burned.
She was lying on her back, on a bed. Frowning, she tried to sit up, but something stopped her. Realization slapped her like horrific thunder.
Handcuffs!
She yanked against the cuffs chained to the metal spindled headboard of the wrought iron bed.
A shape to the left of her moved. She opened her mouth and screamed. Chest heaving, she sucked air back into her exhausted lungs and looked wildly around.
The figure of a man lurked just inside the shadows.
“Who…who are you?”
“Your new best friend,” he replied. “You’re tucked away in a remote cabin, so scream all you like. No one will hear.”
She strained to make out his features. Would she know him by sight? His deep voice didn’t sound familiar.
“What do you want?”
“Answers.”
“To what?”
He moved closer. A streak of moonlight snaked through the blinds, laying shadows across his face. He leaned over her, his coffee breath fanning her cheeks. “Just whose bed have you been sleeping in, Goldilocks?”
“What?” she croaked, trying to move away from him as she fought the handcuffs. “Please. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He sat on the mattress beside her, his weight shifting the bed, dipping her towards him. She froze. He reached out and ran the back of his roughened fingers along the side of her face.
Her bottom lip trembled.
“Cut the innocent act with me, Brandy.”
Brandy?
Nicole wracked her brain trying to figure out what he meant. He had the wrong person. This was all a mistake of some kind. “I-I don’t know what you mean. My name isn’t –”
“Stop playing games,” he demanded. “I’m going to get the answers I need, one way. . .or another.”
“You’ve got the wrong person. My name is Nicole. Nicole Hewett.”
He stood, the sudden movement causing her to flinch. She braced herself, fearing he was going to strike her.
To her shock, a light flicked on. She squinted as her eyes adjusted to the change. When the kidnapper came into focus he was standing by a lamp, dressed in a gray ribbed shirt and snug black jeans. Dark hair fell to his collar in waves. He had a face she would have remembered. Ruthless. A hint of danger rimmed his eyes. Angled cheekbones trailed down to tightly drawn lips. Blue eyes cold. Haunted.
She shivered.
Nicole realized two things in that instant. She’d never seen him before, and now that she had, he wouldn’t let her live.
Tears blurred him out.
She heard what sounded like a drawer opening. Eyes stinging, she tried to blink the tears away to see what he was doing.
He turned to face her from the foot of the bed. She watched him fix those icy blue eyes on her as he held up a manila folder.
“This is proof you’re lying.”
She stared at him. Numb.
“You wanna change your story now?”
Her head shaking, she pleaded, “I’m not who you think I am.”
“These tell a different story,” he said, flicking up photos for her to see.
Nicole gasped at her image in the pictures. Black and white photos. There was one of her getting out of her Toyota. Another of her entering the gym. Others of her taking her morning run, unaware eyes watched. Chills trailed down her spine. The only thing she could do was shake her head in horror and disbelief.
“You’ve been investigated, Brandy. Do you still deny this is you?”
“Those are of me, but that isn’t my name. There’s been some mistake.” She said, her brain raced to figure out something that would make him believe her. “That’s me in the photo, but my name is Nicole.”
# # #
Ian stared down at the woman lying on his bed. Her hazel eyes were flecked with fear. Real fear. She was either a hell of an actress or something was very wrong here.
“Your age?” he demanded.
“Huh?”
“Just answer the damn question.”“Twenty-four.”
“Address?”
“It’s thirty-one, Surrey Court.”
“Siblings?”
“I. . .one. A sister.”
“What make of a car do you own?”
“ Toyota.”
“Color?”
“Red.”
“What’d you have for breakfast?”“I don’t eat breakfast.”
“Full name?”
“Nicole Lynn Hewett.”
Ian stopped. He watched her carefully the whole time he interrogated her. If she so much as blinked, he knew it. He lifted his eyes to stare at the seams where the logs met until the lines fused together.
He had escaped death before thanks to an inherent ability to accurately read people. Realization that the woman just might be telling the truth snaked through him. A sick feeling blazed in his stomach. Here he thought he was going to trap his boss, catch him in his double life by pretending to take Brandy out for him.
Instead he’d walked into quicksand.
If his gut was right, there was only one other answer. A setup.
Orders handed down from the largest gun on the rack. But why?
Letting out a breath of frustration, he rubbed his fingertips down his ribs. He unhooked his cell phone from its clip and strode away from the bed.
He punched the number of the one man he hoped was still trustworthy in this sick world.
After several seconds the voicemail clicked on. “This is you know who. I’m not you know where. So, leave a message at the you know what.” The beep echoed in his ears.
“Where the hell are you?” he yelled into the phone. His thumb jabbed the button to end the call as he slammed the cell phone down on the dresser beside him.
He turned to stare silently at the woman for several moments. Her eyes, rounded with worry, were fixed on him. She was terrified. Something pulled at him. Something he could have sworn was too cynical to be reached. He forced his body to relax and tried not to look as grim as he felt. If his instincts were right, she was as much of a victim in all of this as he was.
“I just might believe you,” he offered.
# # #
Skeptical, she blinked. She looked from the cell phone he had all but crushed and then back to his face. His sudden change in attitude put her on guard. “You mean you’ll let me go?”
“No.”
“But-”
“We should begin again. Let me introduce myself. The name’s Ian. I’m with the FBI investigating why someone would want you murdered.”
It took her a few minutes to replay his words in her brain. He meant Brandy, not her. “You are?”
He nodded.
“I take it you have a badge for me to see.”
He regarded her for a moment and then reached into his back pocket. With a flip of his wrist, a badge appeared along with his picture.
Satisfied he was the man in the photo, she looked up at him. Same sour expression. “I see the scowl is a trademark.”
Her only answer was a thin-lipped frown. He came closer as he fished a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the left side of the cuffs. Her hand fell to the bed and she instinctively moved it to rub her other wrist. “Thank you.”
“I’m afraid I can’t undo the other.”
“But...I thought you believed me.”
“I said I might.”
“But I-”
“No.”
“Can’t you just-”
“No.”
She glared at him. “Some agent you are. Why couldn’t you have simply knocked on my door and asked me your questions?”
“I wasn’t hired to find out answers from you, only to kill you.”
Nicole stared at the mouth that just uttered those words. A ringing vibrated in ears. “You mean Brandy.”
“The name Peter Roark ring your bell?”
All she could do was shake her head. She’d never heard the name before.
He studied her intently. She refused to look away. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Your safest bet is still with me,” he said, cupping her chin in his hand.
He was too close. She could see the flecks of green in his blue eyes. “And just how do you figure that?”
“Simple. It’s like this sweetheart, I didn’t kill you. And the man, who hired me, thinks I did.”
He moved back and stood to walk over to the window. With his hand braced against the wall he looked out into the night.
“You’re working undercover?”
He turned those hard, cold blue eyes on her and stared. “Just accept that I’m your guardian angel and we’ll get along fine.”
“Are we still in Virginia?
“In the hills thereof.”Nicole could only stare at him. How could this be happening? Someone had gotten her mixed up with this Brandy. But how to prove it?
The cell phone on the dresser vibrated before the ring sounded and interrupted them.
# # #
Ian knew the caller by the set ring. “It’s about damn time.”
“Nobody leaves a message like you, pal,” joked the voice on the other end. “What’s up besides your blood pressure?”
Ian glanced over at Nicole handcuffed to the bed. He walked into the hallway and headed to the living room. “How’s Roark?”
“Same demanding boss we’ve always had. Why?”
“He called me a couple a days ago for a special assignment.”
“Congrats. You’re off medical leave, I take it? This means you’ve decided to come back then?”
Ian paused for a moment. He hadn’t decided anything. After being shot and on medical leave, he’d wrestled with the idea of opening a private investigating office. “Maybe. I took care of my assignment earlier tonight.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve yet to tell the story?”
Ian hesitated. What if Trey was in on it? “I’ll fill you in when you get here.”
“Okay. . . sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“I take it you want me there soon?”
“Yesterday.”
A chuckle crackled through the connection. “I see a little R & R hasn’t mellowed you any.”
“Not hardly.”
“I’ve got to wrap up some things here. I can be there first thing tomorrow.”
“I need anything you can dig up on a Brandy Mullins or Nicole Hewett.”
“Gotcha. Anything else?”
“Make sure you come alone.”
“Ian, are you in some kinda trouble?”
“No more than usual.”
Trey chuckled. “For that I risk life and limb huh?”
“Trey, watch your back on this. Your head could be on a block.”
“Thanks for reminding me I need a haircut. I want to be a good looking corpse for all the women I leave behind.”
Ian chuckled and snapped the phone shut. Trey, ever the ladies’
man, would have that last wish. He sobered and ran his thumb along his side. His next move would be to wait and see what happened with Trey. Would he come alone? He would be ready either way.
His mind wandered back to the woman handcuffed to his bed.
What should he do with her now ?
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Copyright 2007 Sherry Foley. All rights reserved.
