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Mitchell seethed as he glared out into the dark cornfield. No, the emotions coursing through his veins and setting fire to his blood were mixed and myriad. He hated himself for his failure to protect Sam. He despised the fact he’d trusted someone enough to let him into a sacred circle. He suffered through the throbbing pain occupying his shoulder and jaw. He positively loathed David for his betrayal of their friendship and possible treason against the country. Yet, twisting through all those negative things was a thread of hope that he could still salvage the situation and escape it or even have a shot with Sam if things went well. That’s what he held onto and let guide him.
But ironing out his love life had to come third. Survival and capturing David to bring him to justice held his full attention. After all, he had a job to do and he’d sworn an oath to protecting the citizens of this country.
Well, that and beating the pulp out of the gunman who dared to hurt Sam. Beside him, she whimpered, not quite crying but definitely in pain. The sound sliced through Mitchell’s heart and galvanized him into action. He glanced at her, and the wash of tears sparkling in her blue eyes cut him to the core. She didn’t deserve to be trapped in the middle of this case, yet here she was. The fact she’d stuck by him without complaint meant something. What, he had no time to puzzle out now.
Glancing up at Anderson, he spit the blood from his mouth. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll give you the same for laying a hand on the lady.”
“Spare me the theatrics, man.” Anderson trained his gun at Mitchell’s heart. “I have no issue blowing a hole through your chest right now.”
“Why don’t you then?” Yeah, it was a taunt, but Mitchell didn’t care. He wanted something—anything—to happen. This forced inactivity had his limbs cramping. “If you hate me and Sam so much, just do it.”
Sam nudged his side with an elbow. “Hush. I wouldn’t put it past him to do it.”
“That’s the point,” Mitchell whispered back.
She edged away from him. “We didn’t come this far to have your smart mouth get you killed.”
“Well, I didn’t come out here to get killed. Period,” Mitchell rejoined. He ran the tip of his tongue over the cut on his lip. For whatever reason, Anderson wouldn’t do anything without David’s okay. Why? Did David have dirt on the guy or was Anderson waiting on a payout? He reached for his sidearm only to remember at the last moment he didn’t have it on. It rested on the kitchen counter at the farmhouse because this evening was supposed to be a routine night out—a night off. I should have known better. He was always prepared. This evening shouldn’t have been an exception.
Yet it was, and they all had been since meeting Sam.
Mitchell stared at the swaying cornstalks as the rain came down harder. It soaked him to the skin. His head pounded in time to the throb in his shoulder. A streak of lightning cut across the sky over the fields. They were sitting ducks out here. I’m not going to wait around and fear whatever the hell these morons have planned. He needed his gun and he needed back-up. Their only escape route was that dratted cornfield. A shiver wracked his body that had nothing to do with the rain seeping through his clothes. Never in a million years did he think salvation would be had in corn. A dark, creepy cornfield. At night. In the rain. He tamped a sigh and strengthened his resolve. Time to face the fear head on.
Saying a quick prayer that Sam would follow his lead, he surged to his feet then rammed his head into Anderson’s stomach. The guy stumbled backward, his arms pin wheeling.
“That’s a way better plan than I had in mind. I was going to kick the guy in the family jewels.”
He stifled the urge to grin. “Sam, run. Into the corn.” In his peripheral vision, Mitchell caught sight of Sam darting around the side of the SUV. Mitchell sprinted across the empty, wet road and plunged into the cornfield.
As a bullet whizzed by his ear, he ducked. A shout went up behind him. Obviously, David had been apprised of the escape. A crash nearby alerted him to the presence of another person, but he didn’t pause in his zigzag pattern. “Sam?” He raised his voice due to the thunder. Lord, he hoped it was her and not Anderson or David. His heart pounded out a rhythm. The throbbing in shoulder intensified.
“Yeah. Why did you not tell me going around with you meant constant physical activity? I could have been training or something.” She sounded winded and out of breath. “Oh my gosh, you have to stop, just for a second, or I’m going to lose this skirt.”
Did he even want to know what that meant? “We’re in motion, and unless you want to have a not-so-friendly bullet lodged somewhere on your person, you’ll figure it out.”
“You’re not the easiest person to deal with at times.”
“Excuse me for trying to keep you alive. You can berate me for it later.” He risked a glance backward then lost his footing when he tripped on a dirt clod. Hitting the ground jarred his shoulder, and he loosed a string of profanity his dad would have tanned his hide for. He rolled onto his side, breathing through gritted teeth. “Ow.” No doubt he’d skinned his elbow on the fall.
“See, that’s why you should have slowed down, at least for a second.” Sam dropped to her knees beside him. “If we’re lucky, the corn stalks will shield us, but I don’t hear anyone back there.” Her hair hung in wet clumps around her shoulders. A strand clung to her cheek, which was red and slightly swollen from Anderson’s smack. “Give me a sec and I’ll be ready to go.” Dirt streaked her once-pristine white sweater. “Will you be okay? I’ve never been shot, so I don’t know how it feels, but I imagine it’s not pleasant.”
Mitchell nodded, not trusting his voice. In the illumination of the brief flashes of lightning, he focused his gaze on Sam. Her presence invoked a sense of calm in the middle of the chaos. The rain splattering on the corn stalks covered his heaving breathing.
“Maybe it is best we be quiet,” she continued in a whisper. “I know I said it earlier, but I revise my opinion of your job. It’s not for the faint of heart. I have a healthy respect for what you do.” As she spoke, she grabbed the back hem of her skirt, pulled it through her legs, bunched the front part inside then tucked it into the front waistband. “There. At least I’ll be able to move faster without getting the fabric snagged and stuck on the vegetation.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.” She resembled an adult wearing a giant baby diaper, but damn if she wasn’t the best thing he’d seen all week. “It’s nice being surprised by people.” Which brought him back to David’s betrayal. His gut churned with the knowledge their association wasn’t finished yet, and in order to do that, Mitchell would need to capture and arrest him and to ask him why he’d felt the need to throw everything away.
“We’re not all bad.” She tugged at his hand. “Come on. I don’t want anything else to happen to you, so we have to keep going.”
“Where? I can’t see anything except corn and rain.” It stank to high heaven in here. The scents of damp, mildew, dirt and growing things assailed his nostrils. To his left, the gleam of rodent eyes had him shooting to his feet.
“I would imagine there’s another road at the other side of this field. Sure, we might have to go through the next field after that, but eventually I’ll get my bearings or find a landmark.” She wiped rain from her face. “Sorry I don’t recognize anything right now. I was stressed coming out.” Her voice wobbled—a sure sign a meltdown was imminent. “Some honorary agent, huh?”
“It’s okay.” A peal of thunder cracked directly overhead. He flinched but squeezed her hand. “Totally understandable. You’ve been a rock star.” It would be a miracle if they weren’t struck by lightning. “What’s the saying out here, that the corn’s as high as what?” If he could keep her distracted, they’d be good.
Her laughter was forced. “High as an elephant’s eye in July.” She cringed at another thunder boom. “I like storms, but I don’t like being in them.”
“Don’t think about it and you’ll be fine.” God help us. He urged her between the stalks, this time minding his steps. The corn shielded her person. His head was a tad higher than the vegetation. The only saving grace was the darkness. “Just think of this as research for your next novel.”
“Right. As if anyone would believe this sort of thing was real.” She pulled back the green stalks, every inch the confident adventurer. She could have been in the middle of the Amazon. “Too much suspension of disbelief.”
“You never know. There are tons of books full of things I wouldn’t believe. I mean, vampires, really?”
“From what I’ve heard, that’s a money maker.”
“Too bad, because I could really get into a book with intrigue and adventure, even if it did have romance in it.” He planted a hand in the middle of her back. “Pick up the pace.”
“Why? I can barely see as it is.”
His chest tightened. He heard the telltale sound again—the crash and crunch of someone on their tail. “They’ve found us.” The whizz of a bullet flying past quickened his pulse.
Sam sucked in a breath. “That hurt.”
“Were you hit?” Mitchell’s whole world hung on her answer.
“No, just jabbed in the shin with a broken stalk. It left a gash.”
He relaxed enough to smile. The energy from the storm prickled the hair on his nape while being in the wet, stinky corn held him on the verge of dry heaving. It would all be worth it once they reached safety.
“Give up, Mitchell!” Anderson shouted from somewhere behind them. “If I don’t get you, David will.” Another gunshot followed the demand. This time the bullet plowed into a cornstalk near Mitchell’s head.
“He doesn’t really know me that well, does he?” Mitchell whispered.
Sam snorted. “Nope. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.” A sharp cry followed her statement. “That’s it. Now I’m really mad.”
“What?” He glanced at her but couldn’t immediately see a problem.
“That idiot shot me.” She changed direction and led him at a ninety-degree angle from their last position.
Mitchell feared his heart would give out as much as it constricted. He followed, and when he could, asked, “Is it bad?” If she needed immediate attention, they’d have to stop their mad flight through the field and that would mean Anderson won. That is if he’d picked up on their course change. There might be a chance the uneven terrain and the storm would slow him down.
“Probably not. Feels like it nicked my right side, but this is a brand-new sweater! I actually paid retail for it and now it’s ruined.” Indignation rang through her lowered voice.
“I promise you can have at him once we get out of here.” Was there anyone better than Sam? Not in this lifetime. “Welcome to the club. Now you officially belong.”
“That’s a club I wish I’d never qualified for.” She sucked in a breath. “It stings, and mine’s only a baby wound. I can’t imagine how you’re holding up.”
“You get used to it.” Not for any amount of money would he confess to feeling lightheaded due to the loss of blood. He had way too much to do and passing out wasn’t on the agenda. “Badge of honor.”
“Whatever, Mitchell. I’m holding you responsible if I must get stitches. I don’t do well with needles.”
“I’ll be right there with you, holding your hand, doing whatever it takes to get you through it.”
As suddenly as they’d entered the field, they burst free from it. Mitchell stumbled on the road’s surface. A set of headlights appeared in the distance. His lungs burned. Terror-induced running through corn wasn’t exactly what an agent trained for. Even worse was the fact they had nowhere else to run—unless they took cover in the next field. That would be iffy because it wasn’t corn. Soybeans stretched as far as the eye could see, dark and ominous in the night. The two of them were taller than the plants which made them easy pickings for the gunman.
“What do we do now?” Sam kept her gaze trained on the field they’d vacated. “He can’t be that far behind.”
Think, Mitchell. There has to be a way to survive this. He shook his head then raked a hand through his hair. He was so wet he didn’t feel the rain as it pelted him except where it drummed on his shoulder with stinging little pricks. “We could always double back and hope Anderson doesn’t take the bait.” There was still a small chance he hadn’t followed them when Sam changed direction.
She looked at him from beneath her spiked, wet lashes. “I can’t go back there.”
“I know.” He peered down the road. The white reflection of the headlights grew closer. He had his FBI badge in his pocket. That alone would be enough to commandeer the vehicle, and any sort of wheels would be faster than traveling by foot. “How do you feel about hitchhiking?”
“At this point, I’m good with anything that’ll put distance between us and the bad guys.” She untucked her skirt from her waistband, and only then did Mitchell see the red stain on the right side of her ribcage.
Renewed anger bloomed in his chest. “We’re going to end this now.” Time slid by as if it were cold honey as he waited for the vehicle to reach their location. Finally, a pickup truck that had seen better days fifteen years ago slid to a halt. Mitchell raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the high beams. He walked around to the driver’s side. “FBI. I’m assuming command of this vehicle. Get out.”
The driver rolled down his window, physically rolled it down instead of using a power button. A thirty-something man wearing a billed cap stuck his head out. “What’s that you say?”
Mitchell didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. “I need your truck.”
“Wait.” Sam came up beside him. She squealed with apparent delight. “Roy! I’m so glad to see you.”
“Who the hell is Roy?” He gritted his teeth when she grabbed his arm and shook him. In the process she jostled his shoulder. Stabs of pain lanced down that appendage.
“Roy Dwyer. He’s my cousin. You know, the guy who owns the pigs.” She smiled. “Listen, we’re in a really bad spot. Can you give us a ride? I apologize in advance if someone shoots up the truck.”
The driver—Roy—nodded. “Hop in. Won’t matter if I get another bullet hole in the frame. She’s mostly a rust bucket now.”
“Awesome.” Sam scuttled around the front. Mitchell followed. When she wrenched open the door and the metal squealed, he stepped back to allow her room to swing up into the cab. “Hey, Roy, do you have a gun on you?”
“No, but I’ve got a rifle under the seat. You’re welcome to it.”
“She doesn’t need a weapon.” Mitchell grunted as he settled onto the bench seat beside Sam. When he slammed the door closed, he hissed. Every movement, no matter how mundane, wrenched through his shoulder and set off an avalanche of pain. “Get us back to old Joe’s farmhouse please. I’ll call for back-up then you can take Sam to your place until this case is settled.”
“But—”
“No guns. No back talk. No arguments. I need to think.” He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. Sam’s scream returned him to awareness with a lurch. “What?”
She pointed to Anderson as they hurtled past him on the road. “There he is!”
The sound careened through his brain like a dime store high bounce ball. Did she have to yell everything? “We’re okay. He can’t come after us. He doesn’t have the SUV.” Which meant David did. Where was he? Did he lurk somewhere, lying in wait? The ping of a bullet hitting the truck’s tailgate echoed through the rain that pelted the roof. “See? Still good. We’re safe for now.” He resumed his position, closing his eyes once more. “How far away are we?”
“Well, we’re near the county line now. Probably twenty minutes or so out,” Roy told him.
“Good.” Plenty of time to concoct a plan from the scraps of nothing currently occupying his brain. Beside him, Sam kept up a steady stream of conversation with her cousin. The talk about his animals, his mom and various other domestic topics lulled Mitchell into a peaceful state. “Hey, Sam?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me how come you’re afraid of heights.”
“Why?” Genuine surprise sounded in her voice. “What bearing does that have on our situation?”
“It has none. That’s the great thing about it.” He cracked open his eyes. She was close enough to bundle into his arms, but his limbs felt heavy as if they were full of lead. “I just want to hear a story. Plus, you never did tell my why when you had to rappel that building.” He wanted something to take his mind off the situation, off her, off the pain, off what waited for them and off what would happen if he couldn’t protect her once David caught up to them.
Roy chuckled into the silence. “That’s a good one.”
“Fine.” She settled against the seat, inadvertently bumping his bad shoulder. Agony screamed through Mitchell’s arm. He gritted his teeth. “When I was ten, I climbed to the very top of a maple tree in our backyard. We had three, but that one was really tall and my favorite.” A tone of fondness rang in her voice. “I loved going up there. I could see for miles, spy on the neighbors or pretend I was a bird.”
“You got stuck, didn’t you?” Mitchell asked with a smile pulling at his mouth. In his mind’s eye he saw her as a little girl, maybe with blonde pigtails, possibly hauling a doll up there to while away the time.
“Yup. I’d climbed higher than I ever had before. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t figure out how to get down. I had no idea where to put my feet.” She shot him a glance that brimmed with embarrassment. “I was up there for hours. Then it started to rain. By the time my dad came home, I’d been stuck up there all afternoon and had to pee so bad I didn’t know what I’d do.”
“Yeah, she was the talk of the whole town, all right,” Roy interjected. “No matter how much good old George ordered her to come down, she stuck up there like a wad of gum in the hair.” Her cousin snickered. “They finally had to call the fire department. Our little town didn’t have a ladder truck back then, so they requested one from the next town over.”
Sam huffed. “It was so embarrassing. By the time the truck came, half the town had gathered at our house. Some of the women even brought covered dishes since no one knew how long it would take.” She shook her head. “My goodness I hated the attention and scrutiny.”
“Not only that, but she peed her pants while the firefighter carried her down the ladder.” Roy roared with good-natured laughter.
“Roy! Why would you tell him that?” Sam slapped her relative on the arm. She turned to Mitchell. “I was a little girl, scared, humiliated. And I’d had a big glass of Kool-Aid before I went climbing. My dad wasn’t pleased. He got on my case in front of everyone.”
“You poor thing.” He smirked, yet to his credit, he didn’t allow his laughter to escape.
Her eyes glittered in the dim light. “Yeah, well, you owe me an embarrassing story from your childhood.”
“Later.” He leaned over and brushed at a smudge of mud on her cheek. “Once we’re out of danger, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” And what was more, he looked forward to it. Downtime, where nothing pressing awaited him except sharing stories and getting to know her better, sounded like heaven.
He must have drifted off. Sam bumped his bad shoulder then the squeak of the truck’s door jarred him out of a doze. “Sam?” Mitchell caught her hand before she could follow her cousin out of the cab. Roy had parked behind his sedan.
“Yeah?”
“I mean it. Go home with Roy and stay there. At least then I’ll know you’re safe.” He’d never forgive himself if something should happen to her. It would be Jane all over again, only this time, the loss would hurt more and there’d be no recovery.
“We’ll see.” She gingerly patted his cheek. “If you’re able to stand and move around under your own steam then sure, I’ll go with Roy, but for the time being, you’re stuck with me, mister.”
Mitchell sighed as she slid out of truck then slammed the door. It didn’t sound so bad, except the part about her willingly putting herself into danger. Why couldn’t the woman understand he was looking out for her? There was no time to stew. He opened his door, slid out, stumbled once his feet were on the ground then shoved the rusty thing shut.
At least it had stopped raining. He lifted his face to the darkened sky. After a deep inhalation, he slowly exhaled. He’d just grab his gun and his car. Dread ripped through his gut. The car he’d left in the driveway where David could have had at it when he’d been unconscious. That left Roy and his rust bucket as a possible alternative.
This is just not my night.
He frowned at a car sitting in the front yard. What kind of person parked their car on someone else’s front lawn? They’d even run over old Joe’s birdbath in their haste. Another glance at the nondescript two-door didn’t give up its owner. With unease roiling through his gut, he glanced at his car. Hope faded. All tires had been shot and were flat.
Damn it, David.
Urgency guided Mitchell’s steps, and seconds later he entered the farmhouse, only to find himself looking down the business end of a gun barrel. “What the hell?” Would nothing go right with this night?
Thomas Collins pointed a pistol at Mitchell’s chest. “Your turn to explain, Agent Mitchell.” He gestured with the weapon.
Mitchell took a seat on a sofa next to Sam. Did everyone in this town own a firearm? He darted his gaze toward the hall. How long would it take to run into the bedroom and grab his? Would he be faster than Thomas’ trigger finger? He smothered a groan as the aches and pains made themselves known throughout his body. Probably not. Realizing Thomas waited on an answer, he said, “Explain what? It’s been a long-ass day.” He focused on the pistol. “Wait. Is that my gun?”
Embarrassment jumped into Thomas’ expression. “Yeah. I found it on the kitchen counter. Tell me why your friend is setting me up to take the fall for his treason. I won’t go down for that.” Thomas plopped into a rocking chair, the gun resting on a knee. “I might be anti-government, but this crap you all are involved in is real. I refuse to go to prison for someone else’s mistake.”
Mitchell’s jaw fell open. Hello missing piece of the puzzle. “Tell you what. Let me get cleaned up a bit then we’ll talk.” This was the evidence he needed to irrevocably pin David’s butt to this whole thing, he just knew it.