Читать книгу: «Hidden Twin»

ONE

Rain-chilled wind blew dead leaves across the parking lot at South Georgia Community College, a damp reminder that winter was rapidly overtaking fall. Amy Naylor stopped at the end of a covered sidewalk and stared across the wide sea of vehicles to the far row where she’d parked her midsize SUV. The rain that had poured earlier had given way to clear skies, but the accompanying cold front had dropped the temperature a good twenty degrees.

It figured she hadn’t brought a jacket to wear over her navy button-down shirt. Hiking her messenger bag higher on her shoulder, she glanced at the building where her small office offered the warmth of central heat. It would be easy to go inside, make herself a cup of hot coffee and read over the papers she’d assigned her freshmen biology students. For a few more minutes, she could pretend summer wasn’t over.

But it was Friday afternoon and the building would empty rapidly after the next class ended in an hour. The long empty halls that echoed small noises after everyone was gone had always forced her out of the building with the feeling that something was lurking in the shadows. She preferred her third-floor one-bedroom apartment, where there was only one way in and one way out. In her home, the couch faced the front door, and no one could sneak up on her through a half-open window. Even her bed was shoved against the wall so she could sleep on her side, eyes toward the door, pistol at the ready in her nightstand drawer.

No one was catching her unaware.

Something buzzed against her side. Amy jumped and threw the messenger bag off her shoulder, then stared down at the gray fabric as she tensed.

Her cheeks heated as the side pocket buzzed again. It was only her cell phone, still switched to silent mode so she could teach her classes without interruption. Not a bomb. Not a kill shot.

Yep. She was going home. Stepping back inside and pouring more caffeine into her system with another cup of coffee was a bad idea after all. She scooped the bag up by the strap and glanced around, praying no one had noticed her brief dance of panic.

She’d probably never get over the sensation that someone was breathing down her neck or staring at her through a sniper’s scope, seconds away from ending her life. Every time she turned the ignition in her car, she held her breath and waited for the explosion that would finally end her life of terror.

The phone had stopped buzzing by the time she retrieved it from the pocket and ducked deeper into the shadow of the building to see the screen.

Seventeen missed calls.

Adrenaline shot through her with a lightning bolt of pain. Seventeen missed calls, all from a blocked number.

No. The word tried to push past the sudden lump in her throat, but fear overpowered it. Only two people called her from a blocked number. And if one of them had called seventeen times in the fifty minutes she’d been in class then, for better or for worse, her entire world was about to splinter again.

Either she was free, or she’d been found.

Both options were equally terrifying.

It took her four tries to dial the number she’d committed to memory three years ago, her fingers missing the numbers, her eyes constantly roaming the area, reading the faces of students and faculty members who were heading to their cars after their just-dismissed classes. No one seemed to be paying attention to her.

The call only rang once before a clipped voice answered. “Amy Naylor?”

“Yes.” The voice that had so authoritatively commanded her class only minutes earlier could hardly be called a whisper now, fear choking her into silence. Whatever the voice said next, nothing would ever be the same again. She pressed her back against the brick building and kept watching the flow of students passing by, leading normal lives, certain of where they were headed now that they were free for the weekend.

She envied them.

“It’s me. Deputy Sam Maldonado. Are you in a secure location?”

Amy shook her head before it registered that the deputy US marshal on the other end couldn’t see her. “Not exactly, but I can get to my office.” She turned and headed up the breezeway at a quick clip, feeling as though a million eyes watched her and safety was too far away. She could lock herself inside her office, close the blinds and wait for whatever came next.

“Is Deputy Marshal Edgecombe with you?”

“No.” She stopped at the glass doors to the building, her fingers on the handle. If they’d sent a marshal to pick her up, then this wasn’t good news. This level of caution and urgency could only mean one thing—her identity was compromised. Her stomach twisted as chills swept her skin. Danger was heading her way, and this was a college campus. If Grant Meyer’s people came looking for her with guns blazing...

Her brain wouldn’t even consider what might happen to the innocents around her.

Amy slowed and turned on her heel, staring in the direction of the parking lot. Cradling the phone between her shoulder and her ear, she ran her finger absently across the face of her watch, the cracked crystal rough against her finger. “I can’t go to my office. There’s no way to protect any students on this campus if someone decides they’re in the way. And I don’t see Deputy Edgecombe.” She’d recognize the man anywhere. He stood out in a crowd. At well over six feet, his laughing dark eyes and ready humor belied the seriousness of his job as her contact with the US Marshals’ Witness Protection Program.

Along with Deputy Maldonado, Deputy Edgecombe was her first point of contact and had never failed to answer her call or be by her side if needed. If he was supposed to be here, he’d be here. Then again, he was the kind of man to operate under an abundance of caution. It was possible he was waiting in the parking lot for her to exit the building so he could escort her out without causing a scene or raising suspicion. “What’s going on?”

“I’m two minutes from your location. Get into your office and get secure and I’ll pick you up there.”

Maldonado was coming for her? Amy’s knees threatened to give way and drop her to the sidewalk. They’d met on multiple occasions, the first only a few months ago when she’d nearly compromised her own identity. It had been her fault that time, for trying to leave Georgia against WITSEC rules. Through a series of coded communications she never should have been involved in, she’d learned that Grant Meyer had gone on the rampage. He’d been hunting down anyone who could testify against him or his human-trafficking ring, including Amy and another witness she’d hidden herself, a young woman in the country illegally who refused to talk to the authorities.

Amy hadn’t gotten very far.

Deputy Sam Maldonado was a retrieval specialist, part of the elite team that had been sent to find her and bring her back to safety, fighting to keep her alive so she could testify against Grant Meyer. Since that day, he’d been right beside Deputy Edgecombe, always there and watching, as though he and his team didn’t trust her not to run again.

She’d learned her lesson. When Layla Fisher hadn’t been at the house Amy had secured for her in Virginia, Amy had panicked. She’d left herself cut off with no protection and no idea of whether or not she’d been discovered. Sam and his team had found her and brought her back to safety.

If Sam was on his way, the Marshals Service was more concerned than his calm voice would ever let on.

“I’m not staying here. It’s too dangerous to others for me to be on campus.” With quick steps, she headed to her car, fear for her own safety evaporating with the need to protect the students roaming the area around her. “I’m going to my apartment. It’s only a few minutes away. You can meet me—”

“For your safety, do as I say.” The last four words were heavy with emphasis.

Amy kept talking, her eyes landing on a dark green four-door sedan sitting next to hers. The band around her chest released. “I see Deputy Edgecombe’s vehicle. It’s parked next to mine. He’s here.” She killed the call and jogged toward the vehicle, her muscles weak with relief, even as she acknowledged it was only temporary. She was about to be on the run for her life again.

Her feet slowed as she neared the car, the back of her neck prickling with an unease that refused to be ignored. Something was wrong. The deputy marshal didn’t exit his vehicle to approach her the way he usually did when they met, always acting cheerful and friendly, as though they were two friends meeting for a social visit. Even then, Amy had read his eyes multiple times and seen them scanning the area for threats.

This time, he stayed in the car. The glare of the late afternoon sun off the windshield tinted the glass red and prevented her from seeing inside, and the driver’s side window appeared to be rolled down.

She scanned the line of cars as she drew closer. None of the other reflections off the cars seemed to have that red tint to them.

Her feet rooted to a spot between a sports car and an SUV only a few feet away from Deputy Edgecombe’s car. Bile pushed into her throat and almost gagged her. No. No, no, no. She clapped a hand to her mouth to hold in the scream as realization hit. That couldn’t be blood. It couldn’t be. She was rooted to the spot. She should check on Deputy Edgecombe. She should run. She should—

A man stepped from behind her small SUV, his blue eyes locked onto hers, his jaw a hard line as his mouth curved into a slight smile. In his hand, he held a pistol, the barrel pointed directly at Amy’s heart.

Amy froze, her eyes on the weapon. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t even blink. This was how it ended, in a Georgia parking lot in the chill of late autumn. This was the price she would pay for doing the right thing.

The man stepped closer and Amy inched one step back. “I wouldn’t run if I were you.” His voice was low, deep and controlled. “You take off running or try to fight me and you won’t be the one I shoot.” He kept the gun low, and when Amy tore her eyes away from it to his face, he was eyeing a group of students several rows of cars away.

A sob leaked past her fingers as he closed the space between them, his hand wrapping around her wrist and making her hand throb with the pressure. “You walk with me like we’re old friends or I make sure your marshal friend over there isn’t the only one who bleeds today.”

* * *

“I’m thirty seconds out.” Deputy US Marshal Samuel Maldonado spoke into his radio and prayed he wasn’t too late. He ignored the horns blaring at him as he slowed for a red light then blew through it, hanging a left turn into the parking lot of the small community college where Amy Naylor taught biology.

The past chased him, urging him to push the pedal farther down, to shave away precious seconds. The one time he’d been too late, twenty seconds would have made all the difference.

He couldn’t let hesitation wreck another life. Never again.

“Don’t call attention to yourself.” His team leader, Deputy Marshal Greg Hayes, was typically a man who kept his cool no matter what the situation. His strained voice in this moment dug into Sam’s already frayed nerves. “You have no idea if she killed the phone call or if someone killed it for her. You blaze into that parking lot on two wheels and anyone who’s waiting for their moment to snatch her will panic.”

As much as it gnawed at Sam to hear it, Hayes was right. They already had one deputy marshal who wasn’t responding, even though Amy Naylor had confirmed Edgecombe was on-site. There was no telling what the truth of the situation was.

Sam eased up on the gas pedal and kneaded the steering wheel with both hands, fighting every instinct to move faster. He’d worked with Deputy Elijah Edgecombe for several years, and they’d worked closely for several months, ever since they’d tracked down and reacquired Amy Naylor in Virginia. The woman had actually thought she could take off for a few days on her own. She’d been none too happy when Sam and his team had tracked her down and brought her back to Georgia, and she’d been tight-lipped about her reasons for leaving in the first place. Sam had stuck close, working with Edgecombe to ensure she didn’t run off again. Grant Meyer’s people would be all too happy to find her in the wind with no protection.

Her saving grace when she’d wandered off was that Grant Meyer had been in North Carolina, focused on Amy’s twin sister, believing he had his sights on the woman who’d turned him over to federal authorities and outed his human-trafficking ring. He hadn’t realized he had the wrong woman until he was behind bars.

Amy’s identity hadn’t been compromised then. She’d been safely able to return to her life as Amy Naylor, adjunct professor in south Georgia.

Today was a different story.

As Sam broke through the line of trees at the end of the driveway that opened into the community college’s parking lot, he scanned the area, searching for Amy’s red SUV or Edgecombe’s dark green sedan. He rolled along the lot, scanning the area. This side of the parking lot was largely empty, as most of the students were parked closer to the building.

There. In the next to the last row. The sedan and the SUV sat side by side. “Got a visual on the vehicles.”

“Any sign of Edgecombe or Naylor?”

Sam pressed his lips together and scanned the green sedan. It was too far away for him to get a good look inside, but the red tint of the sun reflecting off the windshield told the story.

The truth came like a blow to the solar plexus. He swallowed hard twice before he could speak. “I don’t think he’s in a position to offer any help.”

Hayes muttered something under his breath, likely words Sam didn’t want to hear anyway. “You’re sure?”

“Not without getting out to check. Be prepared to call in an ambulance.” He itched to park the car and race to his colleague, but he was only one man and a woman’s life was in danger. He’d never wanted so badly to be in two places at once. “Where’s my backup?”

“Two deputies on the way.”

Two people appeared behind Amy’s SUV, walking toward a dark gray crossover parked behind hers.

No, that was wrong. The man walked. He was dragging the female along beside him.

Amy Naylor.

Sam stiffened his ankle to keep from pressing the accelerator to the floor. He’d only alert the man and anyone else who might be watching to his presence. Sam had no idea how many associates the man might have, no idea what he was up against. “I’ve got eyes on her, and it’s not good.” He relayed the scene to Hayes as he rolled closer. They needed a plan fast, before the stranger shoved Amy into a car and took this horrible show on the road.

Sam didn’t dare engage yet. While no one was close to the pair, there were too many students milling in the parking lot and pulling out of the main entrance. They were all in striking distance if the situation disintegrated into a shootout.

Sam was out of options. “I could use some help here.”

“Backup is still several minutes out. Can you stall them?”

“I can try.” He’d love to call in the police or give the order to clear the parking lot, but without knowing who the man was or what his plans for Amy were, any broad moves were risky. Whatever Sam did would have to be subtle and calculated.

The man who was holding Amy captive was tall, broad and blond. He was bigger than Sam, though likely not as well trained. He opened the front door of his car and jerked Amy closer.

The front seat. Okay, good. He was likely alone if he was willing to put her in the front seat where she could grab the wheel and wreck the car.

Slipping his pistol onto his lap and holding it at the ready, Sam rolled his window down and pulled to a stop behind the gray car before Amy climbed into the vehicle.

Her eyes widened when she saw Sam. She opened her mouth, then flicked her gaze to the man behind her and closed it again.

Good. If she blew his cover, they’d all be dead.

The stranger slid his hand from her wrist to her back and tried to shove her into the car as he cut his eyes at Sam. “I think you need to keep moving, buddy.” His voice was low and heavy with a midwestern drawl. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but the way his shirt hung at his side said he had one close to the ready.

Good news? It would take him longer to draw than it would take Sam. Bad news? Amy stood between them—a human shield.

There was an easy fix for that dilemma. He caught Amy’s eye, then deliberately looked at the car door, which stood open in front of her. Come on, Amy. Hear what I’m saying to you. “I just need directions, man. No worries. You know where the student center is? I’ve got a meeting with my—”

“I don’t know anything.” He nudged Amy until she climbed into the car, then he shut the door behind her.

Perfect. Now if backup would get here so they could flank this guy and end this thing without anyone firing a weapon. “I could use a hand here. If you could point me in the right direction, you’d be doing me a solid.”

Casting aside all pretense of civility, the man glanced at Amy and strode toward Sam’s car, anger flushing his cheeks and narrowing his eyes. “I told you to move. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll find your gas pedal and use it now.”

Before Sam could respond, a black sedan slipped around his car and into the space next to the one where Amy sat, a hostage to her captor. Another sedan slid behind Sam and into the spot on the other side.

Sam almost sagged in relief. Deputy Marshal Vince Wainwright slipped out of his car, drawing the man’s attention as another deputy Sam didn’t recognize stepped up from the other side.

Amy’s attacker reached for the pistol at his side, but Sam lifted his own weapon and aimed it at center mass. “United States Deputy Marshals. And I wouldn’t even think about touching that gun if I were standing in your shoes.”

The man’s head whipped toward Sam and he hesitated, then flicked his gaze back and forth between the three US marshals who had hemmed him in. In an instant, his posture melted from defiant anger to sullen resignation.

Sam’s stomach unclenched, but he kept his expression hard. “You’re done. Lace your fingers behind your head.”

The man obeyed, and the deputy Sam didn’t know took him into custody.

Sam eased out of his car and turned to Wainwright. “Deputy Edgecombe’s car is right in front of you. I have a bad feeling about what you’re going to find.” Sam would have checked himself, but Amy was his responsibility.

Deputy Wainwright nodded grimly and disappeared around the SUV as the other deputy hauled their suspect off.

Sam headed straight for Amy. As soon as he pulled the door open, she dropped her head to the back of the seat. “You got him?”

“We did.” He had to get her out of here quickly, before any more of Grant Meyer’s goons showed up, but she was pale and shaking. She likely needed a minute to gather herself before he tried to move her. It was probable her legs wouldn’t hold her until she’d caught her breath. Sam knelt beside her, slightly below her eye level. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Take a minute. Get your bearings, and then we need to move you.”

“This isn’t over, is it?”

“No.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Movement at the front of the car caught Sam’s attention. Wainwright, his phone already pulled to his ear, caught Sam’s eye, his face tight. He shook his head.

No words needed to be spoken. Edgecombe was gone.

Shoving his emotions to the side, Sam turned his attention to Amy, who was still watching him. “There’s a vest in the front seat of my car. When you get in, I want you to put it on.” His own was hot under his shirt, but in a retrieval like this, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Deputy Maldonado?” Her face paled, almost as though she’d heard what the two deputies hadn’t spoken. “How bad is it?”

He wanted to answer her. He really did. But the truth was worse than anything she could imagine. If he’d arrived forty-two seconds later, Amy’s blood would have been on his hands.