Long Gone (2 page)

Tears pressured
Skyler’s
eyes.
Jamila
had been her first and only friend in Myrtle Beach. She’d taken her under her wing, made her feel welcome. The last thing
Skyler
wanted was to be ripped from her new home just when she was settling in.
This has to stop.
  

A bus rolled up with a screech and a cloud of fumes. “
Jamila
, I might not be here tomorrow,” she announced, standing up and heading toward it.    

“Hey, that’s not your bus! Where’re you
goin
’?”
Jamila
protested.

If she moved fast enough, maybe she wouldn’t be followed. With a final wave at her friend,
Skyler
boarded the crowded transit. She found an empty seat near the rear and peered out of the window. Her pulse sped up as the man with the camera popped out on his balcony again, a cell phone plastered to his ear and his eyes fixed on the bus she’d boarded. 

Digging in her purse for her own cell phone,
Skyler
dialed her case handler.

He answered on the first ring. “Higgins.”

“Some man just took my picture while I was sitting at the bus stop,” she whispered.

Higgins remained quiet for a moment. “You think he recognized you?” he asked on an odd note.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you being followed?” he asked. Now he sounded bored.

His lack of urgency made her blood boil. Having had to relocate twice, she had a right to worry, didn’t she? Craning her neck, she peered out of the bus again. Any one of the cars behind it might be following her. “I don’t know.”

Higgins grunted. “Look, just go home and set your alarm. If anyone breaks in, enter your safe room immediately and call me from there.”

WITSEC had installed a tiny room at the back of her closet. Reinforced with steel and padded with Kevlar, it was
unbreachable
. While the safe-room assured protection from immediate danger, it failed to banish the suspicion that the Centurions had found her yet again.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The tradeoff for giving up her old life was supposed to be a guarantee that she wouldn’t have to live in constant fear.

“Fine.”
Putting an end to the call,
Skyler
gazed outside to get her bearings. Her stomach churned with uncertainty.

At the main terminal, she would have to switch busses to get on the one that actually went to her neighborhood. Apparently, it was up to her to lose whoever might be tailing her. 

**

Shifting her head on the pillow,
Skyler
checked her clock. It was 2
A.M
.
, and no
one had attempted to kill her yet.

She would like to believe that was a good sign and that the man with the camera hadn’t been singling her out, like the guy with the cell phone in Omaha or the man in the alley in Portland. Only, she couldn’t convince herself that was true. 

Feeling restless, she rolled out of bed and padded to her kitchen.

She’d made the best possible use of space in the tiny bungalow she called home. The walls were a cheery yellow, the hardwood floors polished to a shine. If forced to move again, she would have to redecorate on another shoe-string budget. At least it kept her skills sharp. One day, she would use her degree to make a living. No more cleaning hotel rooms or inspecting cans on the assembly line or soothing panicked animals.

She heated a mug of water in the microwave. Steeping a bag of chamomile tea in it, she carried the mug into her living room to brood.

In the dark room that surrounded her, not a single memento held any personal significance. Even the afghan she wrapped around her only reminded her of one that her mother
used to cherish. She hadn’t been allowed to keep a single relic or photo, not of her mother, her friends, or even . . .

She tried squelching her memories, but they rushed into her mind like snow melting on the first sunny day in spring. A vision of Drake Donovan gazing down at her in the aftermath of their lovemaking made her heart clutch.

She would never forget the day she had stumbled on her mother’s journals and realized their incriminating information could free her from her father’s ruthlessness. Giddy with relief, she had invited Drake into her bedroom to initiate her first taste of freedom. At the time, she’d thought he was just a gardener, handsome, sweet,
sexy
. Half in love with him already, she’d had no idea he was an undercover agent for the FBI. 

Falling in love with Drake had changed her life, but not in the way that she’d hoped. Because her mother was stricken with Alzheimer’s,
Skyler
was obliged to testify against her father’s associates on Matilda’s behalf, thus condemning
herself
to witness protection. How naïve she'd been to believe, even for a moment, that Drake could protect her! In their determination to quell her testimony, Centurions would have killed him, plus any member of his family they could lay their hands on. But Drake had known that was the case. He’d done his job, helped put a lot of bad men behind bars, and then grudgingly surrendered her to WITSEC, for her own safety and for his.

There wasn’t any question she still loved him. But to expect him to wait for her was a pipe dream. After all this time—four years now—he had surely moved on with his life, found someone else to love.

The thought carved a deeper chasm in her heart.

Resolved to try and sleep again,
Skyler
plodded back to the kitchen with her empty cup.

She had just placed it in the sink when a flicker in the corner of her eye had her turning toward the moonlit window. The silhouette of a man leapt onto her lowered shade.

She startled back on a gasp, and the man disappeared.

Had she just imagined him? A scratching at her back door nixed that optimistic hope. Someone was attempting to break in! In the next instant, her home security system started to wail.

Recalling Higgins’ advice,
Skyler
scuttled to her bedroom. She snatched up her purse and her charging cell phone and headed straight for her closet, feeling inside for the tiny button that triggered the door to her safe room. With a hiss and a glow of ultraviolet light, the door slid open.

She leapt into the four-by-six-foot space, hit another button, and sealed herself inside.

The supplies at her feet, the retractable latrine, and the mat all meant she could survive here for up to a week if she had to, but it wouldn’t come to that. The alarm would bring the U.S. Marshals to her rescue in half an hour, at most. 

Higgins had told her to call him right away.
Let him worry a bit,
she thought, resentment bubbling in her breast.
He
should have taken immediate action to protect me.  

Through the ventilation shafts that tunneled under the house, she discerned a loud
smash
.

What was that?
The alarm fell suddenly silent.
Skyler
put her ear to the steel wall and listened over her pounding heart. The muffled voices that reached her sounded like they were being spoken under water.  

“She’s not here,” said a distorted male voice.

“You sure this is the right place?”

The first man said something about following her home.

I
knew I
was followed
. Her heart beat faster.   

“Look under the bed. She has to be here.”

They’ll never find me
.

“Call that number you got from her friend. Let’s see if her cell phone rings.”

What?
Jamila
would never have given her number to a stranger—oh,
yes,
she would, if the man resembled Prince Charming. Oh, God, if
Skyler’s
phone rang and the intruders heard it, they would know that she was still here. She quickly powered it off, shoving it deep into her purse. She put her ear back to the wall.    

“You hear anything?” 

“Nah.
The bitch must’ve turned her phone off.”

Sweat filmed
Skyler’s
upper lip.

“So what do we do? We can’t stick around. The alarm’s
gonna
bring the feds.”

“I guess we try again tomorrow. Don’t touch anything on your way out.”

As the voices grew fainter,
Skyler
sagged against the enclosure, her fear draining away. All she could hear now was her own shallow breathing.

Any minute now, the U.S. Marshals—possibly Higgins himself—would be here to whisk her away.
Again.
She couldn’t stand this. They’d had their chance to keep her safe and they‘d blown it. How could the mob have found her yet again?

The two last times, Higgins had blamed it on
Skyler
, who’d admitted to making phone calls she shouldn’t have.
But not this time.
She hadn’t called anyone from Myrtle Beach. So maybe
she
wasn’t the problem; maybe there was a leak in WITSEC. Or maybe Higgins himself had betrayed her location.

Skyler
swallowed hard. As her father used to say, every man had a price.

The bag of supplies contained a change of clothing, water bottles, trail mix, and a wad of cash—enough to get her through the next few days. Hefting it off the floor, she looped the strap of her purse over her head and released the lock.

The lights dimmed and the door swept open. As she stepped from her closet, headlights strafed the walls of her bedroom. That would be the hit men leaving or the U.S. Marshals coming to see why her alarm had gone off.

Either way, she wouldn’t be around to find out.

“I’d like a room, please.”

The motel clerk took
Skyler’s
wad of cash with a thinning of his lips, but he kept his comments to himself.

She wore pink plaid pajamas and no shoes. She had lost her flip-flops running through someone’s muddy back yard. Her face was flushed with exertion. Who knew what the man was thinking?

“Check out’s at eleven,” he intoned, handing her a room key.

“Thank you.” She rode the elevator to the third floor, found her room, and went straight to the phone beside the king-sized bed. She hadn’t realized when she’d fled her home that her plan involved Drake Donovan, but of course it did. He was the only soul she trusted; the only person capable of helping her now.   

She dropped on the edge of the bed and pulled the phone closer.

The last time she’d seen Drake was when he’d stuck his head into the back of the U.S. Marshal’s vehicle where she’d sat with her mother. “Only if it’s life or death,” he’d whispered, scribbling his number onto her palm, his brown eyes brimming with sorrow.   

She’d memorized his number on the spot. Weeks later, she’d bought a prepaid phone card so she could place that life-or-death call if the need arose.

Desperation had tempted her to use it twice—once in Omaha the night her mother died and again in Portland on her twenty-sixth birthday. She’d admitted as much to Higgins who’d grilled her after Centurions had found her in both places.

But I never even spoke
, she’d insisted.

It doesn’
t matter. They’re obviously still
watching him. Do you want to put him in harm’s way?
Don’t call him again.

But Higgins had to be wrong. She’d never called Drake from Myrtle Beach, yet the mob had still managed to find her.

So maybe the Centurions weren’t monitoring Drake’s calls. God, she hoped not because she had to call him. She wouldn’t last a week on her own.

With hands that shook, she tapped out the numbers on her calling card followed by his number. Her heart suspended its beat as she waited for his phone to ring.

Then it rang and rang.

Just as she was sure her call would go to voice mail, he picked up.

“Donovan. Hello?”  

F
our years of loneliness, fear, and regret strangled
Skyler’s
voice box. Clutching the receiver with both hands, she pushed his name through her tight throat.
“Drake.”
 

His mattress creaked. “Don’t hang up.” He sounded suddenly wide awake. “Please don’t hang up again, you hear me, babe?”    

“I won’t.” How quickly he’d recognized her voice!

“Good, now tell me what’s wrong.” 

Where to start? “C-centurions came for me again. This is the third time it’s happened.”

“What’s the program doing about it?”

“Nothing.
I ran away. They’re not keeping me safe like they’re supposed to.”