Flee the Night (23 page)

He loved her.

She ached for him to say it, but he just stared at her, studying her face. She wanted to move toward him, but some-thing—maybe their painful tomorrows—made her scoot back.

He made no move to follow her. And then, sorrow filled his face. “I gotta figure out a way to clear your name.”

She blinked at him, emptied.

“Because I’m not sure how I’m going to let you walk out of my life if I don’t.”

Something inside her broke open and wailed. “I told you I was trouble,” she said thinly.

He just looked at her. Then he opened his door.

She got out and walked around to the passenger seat. The sooner they got to Poplar Bluff the better, because every minute she spent with Jim Micah only dug her longings in deeper.

And leaving him might be like tearing herself in half.

It took nearly a half hour to dig the pickup out of the bramble and grass and maneuver it back onto the road. Micah drove for the next three hours, adrenaline wringing out his muscles before fatigue burrowed deep. Lacey was asleep against the door when he pulled over into a rest area, rearranged her against his chest, and tried to stretch out.

But the needed sleep wouldn’t come any easier with her curled up against him, a hand over his chest, her hair tumbled down over her face. She smelled sweet, with a hint of femininity and fierceness, and it wound around his heart and tugged.

Yes, he had to figure out a way to disentangle her from this mess. He bulleted the facts in his mind, trying to sort truth from fiction:

Seven years ago, his best friend and her husband, John, had been killed in Kazakhstan. The point man for the double cross—Ishmael Shavik, international assassin.

Lacey had a baby, born prematurely in that attack, which she’d kept secret. That thought tightened his chest.

For the past seven years, Lacey had been developing an encryption/decryption program for the NSA, one that was finished enough to sell … or steal.

Three days ago, Ishmael Shavik had been spotted on the train. Why was he there? To kill Lacey? Why hadn’t he done it years earlier if he’d been tailing her for so long?

The NSA’s appointed bodyguard—with or without Lacey’s knowledge—had been killed, perhaps by Lacey, during the train accident.

The NSA had arrested—or only detained?—Lacey and ordered her to release Ex-6.

Emily went missing.

While Micah had been tromping around in the woods, Lacey had discovered that Emily wasn’t missing … but had been snatched.

He frowned. How had she found out? And what had she said about a text message? Carefully, he reached inside her jean-jacket pocket as he muddled out the rest. Lacey had sprung herself from NSA custody and hightailed it back to her farm in Kentucky, where she’d … picked up a copy of Ex-6? And now, she was headed to Coward’s Hollow—if he could trust her information—to exchange the program for her daughter’s life.

He found her cell phone and pulled it out. She sighed, then burrowed deeper into his embrace. He felt like a thief as he raised the phone, pushed the text-message-retrieval button. When he read the first message, his heart dropped like lead in his chest.

HELLO, LACEY. I HAVE EMILY.

WILL EXCHANGE FOR EX-6.

NO TRICKS, NO NSA.

NO JIM MICAH.

WILL CONTACT IN 24 HOURS.

Anger flared. Whoever had Emily had better be ready for him. No Jim Micah—yeah, they’d wish they’d never met him. He scrolled to the next message. Crazy relief rushed over him when he saw she’d been telling him the truth. Midnight at Coward’s Hollow. He swallowed, feeling idiotic tears prick his eyes. What a fool he’d been to doubt her. She’d been right—deep inside, he knew she could never have done the things she was accused of.

Why had the CIA let the charges against her stand? They must have had a good reason for sealing her case. Perhaps the real killer behind Ishmael Shavik was still at large—the killer who had burned John and set up his wife to take the fall. Lacey had mentioned Frank Hillman. Micah slipped the cell phone back into her pocket, feeling the overpowering urge to shake the truth out of Mr. Hillman.

The biggest questions throbbed in his mind—which by now was so far from sleep that he might as well drive: Who wanted Ex-6 and why?

Lacey would have to bind and gag him if she thought he wasn’t going with her to Coward’s Hollow. Especially after kissing her … and feeling how she kissed him back. He touched her hair, then let it fall between his fingers. Yep, silky. Soft. The feelings that washed over him threatened to consume him.

If he didn’t figure out a way to rescue Emily and keep Lacey from trading American secrets, then he’d be running too, his life destroyed. Because he wasn’t letting Lacey walk out of his life again. No matter how many times she tried to ditch him.

He knew she wasn’t the girl he’d left behind in Ashleyville, but she’d become so much more than he’d imagined. Brave and adventurous, smart and feisty. She was also loyal and true and generous and breathtaking. She knew how to dig under the hard crust of his heart and till his feelings. Over the past two days, something alive and wild had sprouted in his heart. The magnitude of it nearly choked him.

He stroked her hair, closed his eyes, his emotions thick as he whispered, “Lord, we are in way over our heads here. But You know that, and You know the way out. Please help me find it. Help us get Emily back without trading Ex-6. Give me wisdom. And please, Lord, help me be the man Lacey needs me to be. Finally.”

He listened to her soft breathing, felt her body rise and fall against him, and a feeling of peace, so unlike anything he’d ever experienced, rushed over him. Almost as if she belonged there.

Gently he pushed her away. He sat up, resettled her on his chest, and started the pickup.

Two hours to Poplar Bluff. He’d sleep after Emily was safely home. He hoped that was sooner rather than never.

The sun had just cut the horizon with a swath of pale gold when Micah drove through the outskirt neighborhoods of Poplar Bluff. He wove through morning traffic, hunting for tails or surveillance, and finally, feeling safe, drove to the Tree-Line Motel.

When he emerged from the truck, the air felt warm and soggy, still fighting the wake of the summer storm. He took in his surroundings before he woke Lacey.

She startled awake; it took a moment for her to orient herself. Being the operator she was, she adapted in a blink, grabbed the wig and the backpack, and slid out of the driver’s side.

“C’mon,” he said quietly. He glanced at Conner’s truck, saw he’d activated his external security, then lightly gripped Lacey’s elbow and led her toward the motel, up the stairs to a second-story room near the middle of the walkway.

Conner opened the door when Micah rapped. The guy’s golden blond hair, long and curly, nested his head, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in about three days. Either that or he’d been freshly yanked from bed and had slept bare-chested in a pair of old fatigues.

Micah imagined he might not look much better. “Hey ya,” he said. “Conner, you probably don’t remember, but this is Lacey Montgomery. Lacey, Conner Young.” He turned to Conner. “Where are the girls staying?”

Conner barely blinked at his quick intro. “Dannette’s next door; Andee and Sarah are down the hall.” Stepping out into the hall, Conner knocked on the next door.

A moment later, Dannette answered. She was already dressed in a pair of blue track pants and jacket, her eyes clear. As usual, one step ahead of them. She was probably on her way to walk Sherlock. Her gaze passed Conner to Micah. “Welcome back.”

“I brought a friend. Can she use your bathroom and maybe your extra bed?”

She looked at Lacey, who had straightened. “Absolutely.” Dannette held the door open.

Lacey glanced at Micah, and for a second he saw questions race through her eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “Dannette is a friend. She helped me look for your daughter.”

Dannette appeared startled. She had received sketchy information at best, and he didn’t blame her for her confusion as she shut the door.

Conner, however, did not hold back his opinion. “You’re in over your head here, pal.”

Micah entered Conner’s room. “You have no idea.” He pulled off his jacket, sank onto the bed, and flopped back. Exhaustion washed over him like a tsunami. FOX News droned quietly in the background. “Her daughter’s been kidnapped.”

The silence from his friend across the room made Micah open one eye. Conner leaned against the table, arms folded over his chest. “Why aren’t the cops handling this?”

Micah tossed his arm over his eyes, shielding his brain from the looming realities. But Lacey’s face and the feeling of her in his arms, kissing him with a very yes-I-want-you-in-my-life response filled his mind. He turned onto his side, grabbed a pillow, and crammed it under his head.

“What can I do, Micah?”

“I dunno. She always seems to be outflanking me, or worse, trying to leave me in the dust. Maybe just make sure she isn’t ditching me right now.”

“Ditching you?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He closed his eyes, felt slumber tug at him. “Did you find out any more about Ishmael Shavik?”

“He had ties with Hayata.”

“Oh, beautiful.”
Hayata
, loosely translated from an ancient middle Asian dialect, meant “life” and was the user name of a freelance terrorist group that had anything but life on their agenda. With ties to nearly every known terrorist group from Syria to North Korea, Hayata had one priority—cash. Micah had run into Hayata thugs in various no-name countries in Eastern Europe and Asia, and the memory left him with a burning hole in his gut. The worst part—their leadership was a shadow, someone who knew how to disappear. Suddenly the acquisition of Ex-6 made perfect, bone-chilling sense. “So Shavik could have been working with any number of terrorist factions.”

“Do you know why her daughter was kidnapped?” Conner asked, obviously not intending to let Micah sleep.

Micah sighed, opened his eyes. “Lacey’s designed an encryption/decryption program contracted by the NSA. It’s nearly finished.”

Conner looked impressed. “Government encryption. No wonder Senator Ramey called me, hunting you.”

Micah froze. “Ramey called?”

Conner nodded. “You’d better check your messages. I left three for you.”

Micah groaned and pulled his cell out of his pocket. The battery had died, obviously the victim of Micah’s wandering mind. He tossed it to Conner. “Can you charge it up for me?”

“You going to call Ramey back?” Conner dug around in his bag for a cord.

Micah winced. “I don’t know. I ran into Deputy Director Berg. I have a feeling Ramey’s not calling to cheer on my little sideline adventure.”

Conner plugged in Micah’s telephone, then stood and stared at him. Amazing how one look could say so much.

“What am I supposed to do?” Micah asked. “This guy has Lacey’s daughter and Ex-6 is her only bartering chip. She’s going to trade it for Emily.”

“Ouch. I’m thinking that’s a big N-O. You know what could happen if such a program got into the wrong hands.”

“Yes, we had that discussion. She’s got a midnight meeting. Until then, I have to keep her in pocket. Which—” he hit the pillow again—“can be a fairly painful, if not impossible, process.”

Conner walked over to grab a sweatshirt. “I can see that. Is that a welt on your jaw? Don’t tell me she kicked you.”

“More than once.”

“I’m going to say this one more time because I’m your friend. Are you sure you want to do this? If Ramey finds out … well, he probably already has.” Conner let out a breath. “You’re so cooked, pal. You might as well kiss those bars good-bye.”

Micah just wanted to put his hands over his ears and wish himself far away, maybe back in time to that sweltering prom night, where he could reset his future, and this time fill it with hope. “She needs … help.”

“Have you ever heard of 911?” Conner raised one eyebrow, his look like a punch in the chest.

Yeah, okay … moment of truth
. “She needs
me
.”

“Captain Jim and the Enterprise to the rescue.” Conner sighed and held up his hand before Micah could argue. “You get some shut-eye. I’ll take a shift. Anything I should know?”

Micah closed his eyes, too tired to argue. “She likes to climb out of bathroom windows. And she’s got a wicked left hook.”

“That pretty thing?”

Micah opened his eyes and glared at him. “Listen, Mr. Smooth Operator, she’s off limits, okay?”

Conner smirked. “Finally made your move, huh?”

Micah grimaced, thinking back to his grab-and-kiss. Yeah, he was a real charmer. “No. Well … maybe. I don’t know.”

“Which means …?”

Micah sighed “I kissed her. I was hoping that would broadcast my feelings.” Which at the moment he wasn’t even sure about. Okay, yes, he loved her. He wasn’t so stupid as to deny the feeling that boiled in his chest. But was he ready to marry her, to shoulder her burdens, to love her despite her mistakes?

He swallowed against a lump of grief. What about her lack of faith? How could he marry a woman who bristled every time he brought up God, the most important part of his life?