“No idea.”
“You don’t know what she does for . . . a living.” She kills people, he thought. That’s what she does. Is that a
living
?
“This is bizarre, Mac. You called to drill me about Sam?”
“I’m curious, that’s all. You know me. Reporter to the bone.”
“Gee, can’t relate,” Charlie said with a laugh that didn’t sound all that amused. “Honestly, I don’t know what she does. I don’t even know where she lives.”
“You talk to her every now and then, though, right?”
“I have a cell phone number for her, but I don’t think it works anymore.” She paused when her voice cracked. “Used to be, if I left her a message, she’d call back within a couple of days, but I haven’t heard back from her in weeks.”
“Have you tried to find her?”
“Noah and I are trying now, actually. Alex and I have a couple of things we want to talk to her about, but no joy. I figure she’ll either show up again someday or we’ll eventually find out she’s . . .” She trailed off, emotion thickening her voice again.
“Find out what?”
“That she’s . . . dead.”
His heart gave an ominous thump. “Dead? Why would you think
that
?”
“Just a feeling.” Charlie sounded stronger now, maybe even resigned. “Sam was a daredevil when we were kids. She loved motorcycles, fast boats and bad boys. It didn’t take a double-dog dare to get her to throw caution to the wind. I don’t imagine she ever grew out of that, considering how she ran away from home and never looked back.”
His gaze shifted to the unconscious woman on the bed. He sensed that Sam
had
looked back. And she’d done it with regret, based on her reaction when she’d realized he was friends with her sisters. She’d gotten a longing look in her eyes, and she’d seemed genuinely concerned about Alex.
“What’s this about, Mac?” Charlie asked. “Why are you so interested in Sam?”
“I, uh, well . . .” He trailed off, on the hunt for the right words. And then he decided to just tell the truth. He was a terrible liar anyway. And he was
way
out of his element here. “Look, I arrived at the cabin, and Sam was there.”
“What? Are you kidding? She’s with you now? That’s great!” Charlie’s excitement seemed to vibrate the phone in his hand. “Can you put her on so I can talk to her?”
“The thing is . . . she’s—” He cast a glance at Sam. He couldn’t tell Charlie that her sister was a spy. That was Sam’s story to tell. But he also couldn’t leave Charlie in the dark. She had a right to know that her sister needed help. “There was an . . . incident at the cabin. Some bad people are after her.”
“Bad people?”
“She’s on the run, Charlie. She’s involved . . . in something.”
“Tell me where you are. Noah and I will come—”
“I don’t think we can stay in one spot for too long.”
“God, Mac, what the hell? Is Sam there with you? Can I talk to her?”
“She’s sleeping.” He winced, but it had seemed better than saying, She lost consciousness after being drugged out of her memory.
A long beat went by in which Mac knew Charlie debated how to respond. “Is she okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You need to tell me where you are. Noah—”
“We can’t stay here. We need to keep moving.”
“Mac, please. If Sam needs help—”
“I’m helping her. I’m—”
“Noah can get law enforcement involved. And so can—”
“No! No law enforcement. Seriously. I know this is crazy, but I’m not sure who to trust right now.”
“You can trust me and Noah.”
“I know that. Of course, I know that. I meant about getting law enforcement involved. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I . . . Jesus, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now you’re going to be all freaked out—”
“Don’t worry about that. Just tell me what you’re going to do.”
He had no idea. But he also knew how much Sam meant to Charlie and Alex. “I’m going to keep her safe. I promise.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know it’s not. But I need you to know that, okay? You can count on me for this.” Like you couldn’t count on me when we were together.
“Mac, please. Just tell me where—”
“I’ll bring her home. I’m going to bring your sister home.”
Charlie made a choking sound, as though trying to hold back a sob. He heard another sound in the background, the low thrum of Noah’s voice asking, “What’s wrong?”
Sam sighed then, and Mac glanced over at the bed in time to see her eyelids flutter. “I have to go,” he said into the phone. “I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”
He cut off the call and powered down the phone before Charlie could respond.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
F
linn Ford slipped out of the conference room and snatched his new, vibrating cell phone from the interior pocket of his jacket. The name of his favorite N3 research analyst on the caller ID display heartened him. “Talk to me, Nat.”
“We’ve got a fix on Hunter, sir. He’s in Front Royal, Virginia.”
Flinn’s insides fluttered with relief. He’d reluctantly returned to DC for the time-wasting meeting he’d just ducked out of, but Marco was still well west of the District, hopefully not far at all from Front Royal. He’d be able to locate—and sit on—Samantha and Hunter in no time.
“How’d you find Hunter so fast?”
“He called Samantha’s sister in Lake Avalon. Used a prepaid cell phone. Probably thought he was being sneaky. Dumbass.” A brief pause, then, “Sir.”
Flinn grinned at Natalie’s disgust, as well as her belated respect. He’d always been fond of her. Too bad she had no psychic abilities. “Do you have coordinates? Marco’s out that way.”
“He’s on his way to Strasburg to meet with one of the new hires you requested.”
Flinn’s grin grew. “Very efficient, Nat. I’m impressed.”
“I aim to please.”
“And you hit the target every time. How close is he to Strasburg?”
“He left the cabin about fifteen minutes ago,” she said.
“Divert him to Front Royal to detain Samantha and Hunter. I’ll meet him there.” He’d have to decide then what to do with them.
“And the new hire?”
“Send someone else to pick him up.”
“Should I arrange some backup for Marco, sir? Sloan’s in Alexandria waiting for the handoff in Old Town. Should go down any minute, and then he could hit the road—”
“I don’t want Sloan anywhere near this thing,” he said sharply. Then he softened his tone before he went on, to let her know he wasn’t angry with
her
. He just didn’t trust Sloan Decker these days. “Samantha’s well out of commission by now, and Hunter’s a civilian. He doesn’t even know how to handle a weapon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Nat . . . let’s keep all of this between you and me. There’s no reason to get Assistant Director Leigh or anyone else involved. Do we understand each other?”
“Of course, sir. You know you can count on me for whatever you need.”
He examined the reddened stripe around his left wrist where the twine had cut into his flesh. He thought of his cell phone, smashed to bits under Hunter’s heel.
He had a score to settle with that man.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
S
am stirred again under the covers, and Mac went still in the chair across from the bed. She was regaining consciousness, and this was the part of the plan he had no clue how to handle. She’d told him to touch her as soon as she woke. But how would she make sense of something so unbelievable?
He
couldn’t make sense of it, and he
had
his memory.
Her head moved, and he watched her eyes open more fully. She blinked slowly, trying to get oriented, and her brow soon furrowed.
Confusion had set in.
He edged out of the chair and approached the bed. When he stood beside it, he waited for her eyes to track and focus on him, then he smiled and sat on the edge, careful to keep his distance from any possible skin-on-skin contact, as well as trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible.
“Hey,” he said softly. “How’re you feeling?”
Her eyes narrowed, lost focus. “Where . . . who . . .”
He gave her flannel-covered arm a gentle squeeze. The deep blue of the shirt she wore—his shirt—made her eyes a darker shade of blue. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just relax.”
She glanced around, trying to recognize the room. “Where . . .”
He’d really hoped she’d exaggerated the extent of her memory loss. But, no, she’d told the truth. “We’re in a motel in Front Royal, Virginia,” he told her. Slow and gentle. No reason to get agitated. “Your name is Samantha Trudeau. I’m Mac Hunter.”
“Who . . .”
“We’re friends, Sam.”
She tried to push herself up but stopped with a ragged moan, her hand going to her shoulder as her features blanched whiter still. “What—”
Mac grasped her uninjured shoulder to stop her from trying to sit up farther. “Just be still for a minute, okay?”
“What’s wrong with my shoulder? Did I have an accident?”
“Yes. It’s going to be fine, but you need to baby it for a while.” When she appeared reluctant to ease back down, he grabbed the extra pillow, helped her to sit up then stashed it behind her back.
She watched him the entire time, forehead creased, eyes still slightly out of focus. The need to sleep obviously pulled at her, but she fought it. “I know you?”
“Yes. We’re friends.”
“I don’t remember . . .” She rolled her head on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Why don’t I remember?”
He sank back onto the edge of the bed. This was the part where he was supposed to touch her so she could “flash” on his memories using her “empathy.” He couldn’t force himself to do it. The fear in her dark blue eyes already tore at him. He couldn’t scare her more, regardless of how competent she’d been when he’d seen her in action. That was then. This Sam Trudeau had no memory. This Sam Trudeau was vulnerable and lost.
He decided to lie, just until she had her bearings, until he’d had a chance to figure out what to do. “You had a bad reaction to a drug.”
“I did? What kind of drug?”
“Painkiller. For your shoulder. The doctor said it would take a few days, but you’ll be fine.”
Her gaze flitted around the room, as though she tried to reconcile medical care with this grungy motel setting.
“We’re on vacation,” he said. “Hiking in the Shenandoahs. Do you remember the Shenandoahs?”
“I . . . don’t know. Hiking? I don’t remember hiking. I don’t remember . . . you.”
“You hurt your shoulder, and we checked in here to give you some time to feel better. That’s when you reacted badly to the pain medicine.”
“Oh.”
“The doctor said the adverse reaction will affect your memory. It’s temporary.” Amazing how effortless it was to lie.
She frowned. “I’ve never heard of . . .”
“That’s probably because of the memory thing. The best thing you can do is just relax and let me do all the work, okay?”
She let her head fall back against the pillow. “Dizzy.”
He knew how that went. After his encounter with Skip Alteen’s pipe wrench, he’d ridden the Sit ’N Spin for weeks. “It’ll pass.” He hoped. “Do you need anything? Bathroom?”
“No.”
That surprised him, but then, she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since he’d found her in the cabin. She might have been dehydrated even then. “How about something to eat? It’d take me just a few minutes to make a run.”
“Not hungry.”
“You need to eat and drink something. It’s been a long time.”
“Later,” she murmured, already drifting off.
“I’m going to go get some food, okay? Just rest. Don’t try to get up while I’m gone. I don’t want you to fall if you get dizzy.” He paused, but she didn’t respond. “Okay, Sam?”
She nodded without opening her eyes.
“I’ll be gone only a few minutes.”
The steady rise and fall of her chest indicated she’d already fallen back to sleep.
After tucking the covers securely around her—and resisting the silly urge to lean down and kiss her forehead—Mac grabbed the room key and headed out the door.
As soon as she heard the door click shut, she opened her eyes and shoved aside the covers. She took a moment to gather her strength before using her good arm to push herself into a sitting position. Colored stars burst before her eyes, and she breathed through the pain and the spinning.
God, she felt bad. Weak and dizzy and confused.
He’d said his name was Mac Hunter. He’d called her Sam Trudeau. The names meant nothing to her. Nothing meant anything. This motel room. The hiking accident. Especially the buzz of white noise inside her skull.
All she knew for sure: Mac Hunter was a liar. He’d avoided her gaze when he’d told her about hiking. Classic mistake. Funny how she knew that with such certainty yet couldn’t remember her own name. Or his name. Or how she got here. Or where “here” was.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she hunched her shoulder against the deep throbbing ache and wiped the back of her hand over the dampness of her forehead.
Everything hurt, like she had a terrible flu. Maybe she did.
Or maybe she’d been tortured for months then dumped here with a good-looking man with kind eyes and dimples who assured her she was safe and insisted on feeding her, a scenario designed to gain her trust.
The alarm she felt at the thought—and what must have happened to her to cause such suspicion despite her memory loss—persuaded her to stop wasting time and
move
.
As she swayed to her feet, her stomach shifted and clenched, and she had to grab on to the headboard for balance. Okay, so moving fast wasn’t an option.
The soft pants she wore hung from her hips. Not hers, she realized. Same for the flannel shirt that drooped off one shoulder, revealing the bandage underneath.