Ellen Wolff traced the rim of her coffee mug with her finger as she stared into the calm, dark waters of Bleu Lake. It was named by Prince Napoleon Beauregard decades ago for its deep blue color. Legend had it that during his travels to America he stumbled across the lake by accident and became so enamored by its beauty he nearly left his noble title in France to live on the lakeside. His lovely wife convinced him to purchase the lake, rename it, and build a vacation home so they could visit the Americas when they wanted to. As luck would have it, a fire burned the home to the ground and the Prince and Princess never visited again. The remains of the vast estate could still be found buried near Evan’s house.
A loon called to its mate in the distance. Ellen smiled. She loved this time of morning. The water glistened like glass except for an occasional ripple from a bug landing on the surface. Over the trees the sun rose, promising another warm day.
She settled back into her Adirondack chair, letting the peace of the early morning comfort her before she began her day. First on her to-do list was to visit Dani. Kell had gone somewhere with her yesterday but neither of them would share where they’d gone. All Ellen knew was that ever since their return both had been quieter than usual. Especially Dani. Since Ryan’s death, she has spiraled downward, letting her health go and barely leaving the house unless forced. Ellen understood grief and how it crippled you. Heck, she struggled to get out of bed some days hers was so overwhelming. Losing her son weighed on her every second of every day. But she didn’t let the boys or Bailey see it. For them, she remained strong. Sticking to traditions, Sunday dinners, Tupperware in their fridges upon their safe return home. Even if it tore at her heart when she opened her Tupperware cupboard and saw the set she’d reserved for Ryan which she’d swear still carried the scent of his favorite casserole.
Chicken and biscuits. Baked in her own creamy sauce with homemade biscuits baked golden brown on top. Ryan had loved it since he was a toddler. She’d made it so many times she knew the recipe by heart. As she did with all her son’s favorites. Bailey, on the other hand, preferred the simpler things like homemade vanilla ice cream topped with fresh strawberries. Her job as a cartographer didn’t take her to dangerous places all over the world like Ellen’s boys. But that didn’t stop Ellen from filling Bailey’s fridge with her very own purple Tupperware. As the only girl of seven children Bailey had learned to hold her own, but she still liked girly stuff. The Lord had blessed her and Frank with a daughter before Ellen went through her change, then took her away for three long, horrifying days when Bailey was ten.
Ellen drew in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Closed her eyes to stop the memories of her daughter’s kidnapping from invading. Bailey had been returned to her and that was all that mattered.
A hand landed gently on her shoulder. Ellen opened her eyes and smiled up at her husband of thirty-five years. His hair had turned more gray than dark, but he still made her heart race. Even after all these years.
“Good morning.” She said.
He leaned down and kissed her softly, murmuring, “Good morning.” Then sat in the chair next to her.
“I thought I’d run over to Dani’s. Take her some of that cake I made yesterday.”
Frank nodded, sipping his coffee. “That was good cake.”
“You don’t like angel food cake.”
“I do when it’s covered with chocolate sauce.”
Ellen smacked him on the arm and he laughed. “You’re a scoundrel, Frank Wolff.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the beginnings of a new day. Grieving the fact their days would never be the same after losing their son. Remembering hot summer nights watching the kids frolic in the lake until much past their bedtimes. Going for late night swims themselves after the kids had fallen asleep.
Ellen let out a soft sigh. Frank rested his hand on hers. “He’s here, Ellie.” He said quietly.
“I know.”
Frank rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. “Come on. You can make me some of your famous blueberry pancakes.”
She chuckled. “Oh, I can, can I?”
Together they walked down her new dock—built by her boys just a few short weeks ago—toward the house.
As they approached the back deck she asked, “Scrambled eggs and bacon to go with your pancakes, sir?”
Frank wrapped his big, strong arms around her and she knew everything was going to be all right.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said as they walked inside the house they had raised their kids in.
****
Something cold and hard snaked around Macy’s neck. Slowly, one inch at a time. She came awake, hands going to her throat, clawing at the hand squeezing the breath from her. The stench of sweat and tobacco filled her flaring nostrils. Familiar. Paralyzing.
Panicked, she bucked against him to no avail. As always, he managed to pin her so she couldn’t move. She knew what came next and it filled her with rage and terror. He liked to choke her until she almost passed out, then he’d let up, allow her to catch her breath and do it again. And again. Until she wanted to stop fighting and let the blessed darkness take her. But, she never did. She didn’t stop fighting then and she wouldn’t now.
Her ears began to ring, dots dancing in front of her eyes. It wouldn’t be long before she entered that tunnel, just out of reach of total blackness. As her lungs screamed for air, she dug her nails across the exposed skin of his hands, hearing him growl in pain. He tightened his grip, pressing on her trachea with more force than usual.
Real panic set in. He wasn’t here to torment her. He wanted to kill her. There would be no sadistic game of conscious and unconscious. No one to listen and snicker as she gasped for air, the life draining out of her. No one to mock her when she began to fade away only to be slapped awake.
The ground beneath her vanished. She floated between awake and asleep, the pain inside her chest so intense she could only hover between life and death. Her body no longer belonged to her. Her eyelids drifted closed, the buzzing in her ears fading.
The hands that controlled her life were abruptly ripped from her throat. Macy gasped, choking as blessed air filled her lungs. The buzzing in her ears gone. Hyperaware of everything around her, she coughed and drew in another deep breath. Close to her feet a body hit the ground with a painful thud followed by the sounds of fists hitting flesh. Grunts as each one hit its mark.
Oh, God. Nate.
Scrambling to sit up she patted the ground for the flashlight Nate had left her. When she found it she clicked it on, shining it toward the scuffle she’d heard. Unprepared for what she saw.
Nate leaned over her attacker, one hand fisted in his shirt holding him off the ground while punching the man with his other. Controlled, efficient blows that made her flinch. But it wasn’t the violence that froze her; it was the deadly look on Nate’s face. She’d never seen him like this and it scared her. This Nate was a killer. Focused, driven, lethal.
Part of her wanted to stop him from killing the man with his bare fists. The other part, the darker half she tried to keep buried, wanted the bastard dead for what he’d done to her. The torment he inflicted, the torture he put her through. All with Aziz’s consent and blessing.
She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out except a hoarse croak. Nate must have heard it because he turned his head to look at her, fist raised, knuckles bloody. She shook her head.
“It’s us or him,” Nate said in a low, guttural voice that didn’t sound at all like him.
The man she’d nicknamed the Strangler took advantage of Nate’s momentary lapse and threw a hook that landed hard on Nate’s jaw. Nate’s head snapped sideways from the force of it. Before she could comprehend what was happening the two were grappling on the ground.
In the narrow beam provided by her flashlight she saw the glint of steel.
A gun.
“Nate. Gun.” She tried to warn him but the words came out a raspy whisper.
A small pop. Both men slumped to the ground.
Oh, God. No.
Macy scrambled to reach Nate, the wound on her leg forgotten. Please, God, don’t let him be dead. Blood rushed through her head, her heart pounding as she reached him and gripped his shoulder.
“Nate?”
He stirred, his head lifting. “Get back.”
Relief surged through her with such force she fell back, jostling her wounded leg and sending a jolt clear to her shoulders.
Nate rose nimbly to his feet, blood soaking his vest.
“Were you hit?” she managed past the throbbing in her leg and inside her.
“No.”
“Thank God.” She breathed.
“I need to take care of this. Wait for me in camp.”
Numb, she nodded and did as told, limping back to the tent. She climbed inside and lay down, closing her eyes to the ache in her throat and pounding in her head. To be honest, she wished she could close her eyes and sleep for days. Forget all that had happened. Pretend her life was normal again. That her friends and coworkers weren’t gone and she wasn’t on the run for murder. There had been too much death. She needed an escape.
Ridiculous to wish for something she couldn’t have. They were in the middle of nowhere and danger lurked around every possible corner.
Macy put a hand to her forehead. Felt like a jackhammer chipping away at her skull. It was making her nauseous. Stress reaction.
Maybe she’d just rest for a second until Nate got back. Maybe then the dizziness and nausea would subside.
Darkness folded around her before she could finish the thought.
****
Nate rose to his feet, staring down at the body he’d covered in dirt. Scavengers would eventually find it, but for now they were safe. An ache spread through his chest, sharp and angry. This bastard could be the one who shot Ryan.
Rage choked him. He would never know who fired the fatal bullet that stole his youngest brother’s life, but he damn well wouldn’t stop until every last one of Diakameli’s army was eradicated, the IPA nothing but a distant memory. Maybe then he could get through the days without an ache in his soul.
Pushing those thoughts away, Nate picked up the suppressed weapon the guy had been carrying and returned to camp. He expected to find Macy there waiting for him but she slept soundly in her tent.
He checked on her, noting her erratic breathing, but didn’t wake her. It would only cause her more distress. Besides, the way he felt right now he’d rather be alone. Adrenaline still coursed through his body. When he’d saw that bastard on top of Macy, his hands wrapped around her neck, Nate had saw red. Fury so strong and swift he barely remembered what happened next. All that ran through his head was that a soldier of Diakameli’s army wasn’t going to steal the life of another person he cared about.
At the time, he hadn’t given the last part a second thought, he’d just simply reacted. Now, as he shrugged out of his Kevlar and stowed the weapons, adrenaline wearing off, everything flooded back.
Cared about?
He dropped down to the rock Macy had been sitting on earlier. Logically, it made sense he cared for Macy. That she made it home safely and that no more harm came to her. Feelings weren’t really involved. He would want the same for any charge in his care. He knew how to do his job and emotions weren’t part of that. Damn things just kept sneaking in and it was getting harder and harder to fight them.
Nate scrubbed a hand down his face. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids. He needed a few good hours of sleep if he was to stay on top of his game.
He rose from the rock and walked over to the tent. There was only one way he would get any sleep and that was knowing Macy remained safe. The safest place for her was next to him. Without a second thought, he slid up beside her, spooning her so they would both fit. Macy didn’t wake, but pressed closer to him. He rested an arm around her waist for comfort and let his eyes close.
Only to be awakened by an elbow in his ribs.
Grimacing when Macy’s elbow dug deeper into his side he leaned over her to whisper, “Relax. It’s just me.”
Macy muttered something intelligible and shifted position again. Her elbow left his ribs, but she kicked him in the shin as she twisted and turned to get comfortable.
“Hot.” She mumbled, arching to get away from him.
Nate placed a hand on her forehead. Damp with perspiration and much too hot. Fever. Incoherent.
Fuck.
He eased out of the tent, found his lantern and clicked it on. Using the small ray of light to inspect Macy’s leg he saw her pants were soaked in blood. Hard to make a diagnosis without seeing the wound, but the way Macy tossed about he wouldn’t be able to get her pants off. If the wound had gotten infected she would need medical care immediately. His supplies were limited.
Only one option. Get to the nearest village and hope they had access to some. At the very least; a vehicle. Taking her to a hospital wasn’t an option. They would have those monitored.
Working quickly, he packed up camp, lifted Macy into his arms and broke into a swift walk. Her body burned against his and it wasn’t long before sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d spent enough time in these mountains to be fairly familiar with the villages not found on any map. Some people still lived off the land and denied modern conveniences. Exactly what he needed. He couldn’t risk anyone asking too many questions or going to the authorities because they saw Macy’s photo on the television.
It would delay them and take them miles off their path. What choice did he have? Macy needed medical attention. More than what he could give.
Concern snaked through him, squeezing his chest. If he didn’t bring Macy home Avery would never forgive him. He’d given his word and he’d be damned if he didn’t keep it. His family had lost too much already. He wouldn’t be the one to add more grief.
Determined, he pushed harder.
****
Nate stumbled to his knees, his body too depleted to feel the pain when he landed hard on a rock. Sweat rolled down his face, his back. Where the hell was that village? They should have reached it by now.
Sun beat mercilessly down on him, sapping his energy. He’d been in worse situations as this but damn if he fought to stay on task. Almost like…
Something moved in front of him. Nate blinked, trying to focus. What the hell was wrong with him?
He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog. Swaying, he watched the figure grow closer. Letting Macy’s legs slip to the ground, he reached behind his back for his Glock. His fingers closed clumsily around the grip.
Before he could pull his weapon, the figure morphed into four.
“Stay back.” He warned, his words slurring.
As if he hadn’t spoken, the figures approached. He felt Macy being taken from his arms. The last thing he remembered was lunging for her and the ground rising to meet him before everything went black.