SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM
As the only witness to a murder, FBI defense attorney Annalise Rivers has no choice but to enter witness protection on a remote dude ranch. But after an attempt on her life, can the ranch’s owner, former Navy SEAL MacArthur Davis, keep her alive long enough to testify?
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HIDDEN WITNESS by Shirlee McCoy,
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CHAPTER ONE
Annalise Rivers waited in darkness, crouched deep in a thicket of brambles, cold seeping through the thin fabric of her running gear. High above, the full moon gleamed between branches of mountain ash and sour gum. She shifted her weight, trying to ease the pain in her cramped thighs and calves. A thorn scraped her neck, but she didn’t dare shove it away. They were hunting her, and one wrong move could give her away.
A branch broke and a man cursed, the sounds carrying on the still winter air. He was close, the thicket a buffer between them—a protective shield that she hoped would keep her hidden. Light danced across the ground a few yards away, the beam bright enough to illuminate the thicket floor. She didn’t sink back into the foliage, afraid of the noise she might make. If the light found her, she’d run. If it didn’t, she’d wait. Eventually, someone at Sweet Valley Dude Ranch would realize she was missing. A search party would be sent out, and her pursuers would flee.
She hoped.
Anything was possible. She’d been a criminal defense lawyer long enough to know that. She’d also been one long enough to know that she should have stayed at the ranch instead of going on an evening run outside the safety of its gates. She hadn’t been placed in Witness Protection because the threat against her was minimal. Archie Moreno wanted her dead. He was desperate to make it happen. As an eyewitness to the murder of Archie’s former second-in-command and the only witness who had seen the shooter, Annalise had the potential to help put one of the country’s most notorious mobsters away forever. Of the three survivors of a courthouse shooting that had taken two lives, Annalise was the only one whose testimony could be key to taking down the Moreno crime family.
A light bounced off the top of a bush to her left. She tried to make herself smaller, to sink into the frozen ground and be covered by dead leaves and debris. She thought she heard the staticky sound of an open radio line. There. Gone. The line closed as the hunters moved in on their prey.
A second light bounced across thick vines and thorny branches a few yards to her right. Did they know where she was? Was that possible? She’d been attacked three miles from the ranch, on a trail she had been running. She had fought off her assailant and escaped into dense foliage. She had no idea what direction she had run. She had no clue where the ranch was. Thousands of acres of wilderness surrounded her. Yet, somehow, she couldn’t seem to escape her pursuers. It made no sense, but she didn’t have time to think about it. Both lights went out, plunging the thicket into darkness. She heard the unmistakable sound of a gun safety being released. She didn’t think, she moved, dropping to her belly and army crawling through the tangle of briar bushes. The first gunshot hit the ground inches away. The second blew through the branches above her head.
She scrambled backward, shoving through the thicket, not caring how much noise she made. They knew she was there. If she didn’t escape, she would die. A third bullet struck the ground in front of her, splintering dead branches. She froze. Afraid of making the wrong move. Of crawling into the path of the next bullet. She didn’t want to die. Not out here in the middle of nowhere. Not before she had a chance to live all the dreams she had put on hold for her career.
A fourth shot split the night, and she cringed, expecting to feel the impact. Instead, she heard a high-pitched cry of pain and the unmistakable sound of retreat. Branches breaking. Twigs snapping. Feet pounding on nearly-frozen earth. Then, silence.
She had no idea what had happened, and she wasn’t going to wait to find out. She crawled out of the thicket, staying low and moving fast. The moon was bright, her night vision clear. She scanned the area. No flashlights. No dark shadows moving through the trees. She was alone.
Or seemed to be.
A creek burbled nearby. She could hear water swirling over rocks and pebbles. A stream or creek would lead to civilization. At least, that’s how it always seemed to work in movies. She’d find the stream and follow it until she reached a house or business. It wasn’t a great plan. There were probably a million holes in it, but it was the only one she had.
She headed toward the sound, picking her way down a steep ravine. Her feet slipped as she reached the bottom. She grabbed a sapling to keep from falling.
She needed to be more careful. If she fell and was injured, she would never make it out alive. She made it to the creek bed and followed the flow of water as it bubbled across smooth stones. She was heading downstream. She knew that. Hopefully, downstream would eventually lead to a house, a road, or a business.
She had no idea how far she was from safety. Sweet Valley Dude Ranch was a two-thousand-acre working cattle operation located ten miles west of Briarwood, Texas. There were thousands of acres of hill country and wilderness surrounding it. If she didn’t make it out on her own, she doubted a search party would be able to find her. She was a tiny speck of humanity in a vast expanse of woodland. Easily lost. Not easily found.
A branch snapped at the top of the ravine, the sound sending chills down her spine. Had they found her again? It didn’t seem possible or probable. They’d left while she was in the thicket. She hadn’t seen their lights or them when she had exited it. And, yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.
She whirled toward the sound.
She had no weapons.
No armor that could protect her from bullets, but she would face whatever was coming head-on.
And, she would fight.
She expected a frontal attack.
She was grabbed from behind, a steel-like arm wrapping around her torso. A hand pressed over her mouth. Everything happened so quickly, she didn’t have time to turn, to scream, to run. Her arms were trapped at her sides. She kicked, trying to connect with a knee or shin, threw herself backward desperate to unbalance her attacker. His grip tightened.
“Stop. They’re still out here, and I have a limited supply of ammo. We need to keep quiet, okay?” a man whispered in her ear, the voice vaguely familiar.
She nodded.
“You’re not going to scream if I release you? You’re not going to run?”
She shook her head.
His grip eased, his arms dropping away. She spun to face him. Saw the cowboy hat first. The five-o’clock shadow. Broad shoulders. Eyes that looked straight into hers. A familiar face to go with the familiar voice.
Very familiar.
“Mac?” she whispered.
MacArthur Davis owned Sweet Valley Dude Ranch. He had hired her to assist his cook who prepared meals for dude ranch guests and for the ranch hands. He didn’t know her real identity. Just the fictitious one assigned to her by the US Marshals. He had no idea that she was witness to a murder. Or that a very dangerous man wanted her dead.
“You need to get out of here,” she whispered.
“We need to get out of here,” he corrected.
“Mac, you don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly. Now, how about we both be quiet before we draw attention to our location. I’m not in the mood to die tonight. I’ll explain things later. The guys who were shooting at you headed back toward the trail. We need to move in the opposite direction,” he murmured.
“You saw them?”
“Not well enough to provide a description, and I’m not sure how many there are. At least three. That’s as much as I know.” He took her arm. His grip was firm, his fingers warm through the silky underlayer beneath her running vest.
She had been working for Mac for six months, but she didn’t know him well. The ranch kept him busy. Cooking kept her occupied. When it didn’t, she found other things to do. Most of them involved staying away from people who might ask questions she couldn’t answer. Living under her assumed name with her assumed background had begun the afternoon she had arrived at the ranch with a newspaper help-wanted ad for a cook clutched in her sweaty palm. It had been July. Putridly hot, and she had been driving the old pickup truck the US Marshals had procured for her. She had been hoping she’d be turned away and that the Justice Department would have to hide her in another location. After all, she had known nothing about Texas and very little about cooking.
It hadn’t worked out that way.
She couldn’t say she was upset about it.
Not anymore. She had learned a lot during her stay at Sweet Valley.
“This way.” Mac gave her arm a gentle tug.
Her mind had been wandering.
She had been wandering.
Away from the stressful situation and the fear.
She needed to stay focused and alert. She didn’t want to be taken by surprise again. Earlier, she had been running on the trail, thinking about Boston when a man had said her name: Annalise Rivers. A name she hadn’t heard in six months. She shouldn’t have responded. If she hadn’t been thinking about the past, maybe she wouldn’t have. She had turned, caught a quick glimpse of a ski mask and dull blue eyes. She’d been knocked to the ground, pulled off the trail as she fought and clawed to free herself. Somehow, she had managed to grab a stick and jab it into her attacker’s throat. Not enough to stop him but enough to loosen his grip. Annalise had broken free and run.
She had escaped, been found again, escaped.
Next time, she might not get away.
She and Mac stayed close to the creek. Steep hills rose to both sides of it. She didn’t want to think about how easy it would be get trapped in the creek bed, unable to scale the muddy banks that jutted like walls on either side.
“What if—?” she began.
“Shhhh,” he hissed.
She had never been one to follow blindly. She preferred to take the leadership role, but right now, she could see no way out of the trouble she was in except to do exactly what Mac said.
Be quite and keep moving.
One step after another.
Away from the men who were following and toward some unknown destination that she could only pray would offer them shelter and safety.
* * *
In the years since MacArthur Davis had first agreed to allow his ranch to be used as a secret safe house for the US Marshals, he had never come this close to losing a witness. Then again, most of them had been short-term placements. His ranch had been a halfway house of sorts. A place for endangered witnesses to stay while they waited to enter the witness protection program. Mac’s old buddy, US Marshal Daniel Avery, had recruited him years ago, offering good money in exchange for the use of the ranch. Men and women. Young and old. They had come with new identities and stayed as guests. Annalise had been different. Mac had known that going into the assignment. She was the sole witness to a murder, and her testimony could link the killer to one of Boston’s most notorious crime bosses. Daniel wanted her to stay on the ranch until the trial. Under an assumed name and assumed background, she had been working as a cook, staying in one of the cabins reserved for ranch hands. He had been keeping an eye on her. Just as he had all the other witnesses, but instead of the two months Daniel had estimated, the placement had dragged on for six. Good money. Enough to pay off the second mortgage on the family ranch. But it wouldn’t be worth it if he died. Or if she did.
He eyed the muddy walls that rose up on either side of the creek bed. He knew this area well. He’d spent his childhood summers exploring the wilderness around the ranch. If he could get them out of the creek bed and onto higher ground, he might be able to get cell phone reception and call for help. If not, their best hope was to make it to town without being spotted by the men who had been shooting at Anna.
He hadn’t been close enough to count the number of assailants, but he had been plenty close enough to put a bullet through the gun arm of one of them. That had been enough to chase off the group, but maybe not enough to keep them away. He scanned the gray-black forest, searching for light, for moving shadows, for any hint that they were being hunted.
The wilderness was eerily quiet. No deer picking their way through the late winter foliage. No raccoons out scavenging for food. The moon hung low over the trees. Full and bright enough to enhance visibility, it was both a blessing and a curse in a survival situation like this.
He stopped at a large tree that had fallen across the creek, tested its strength and then shimmied up and out. Anna was right behind him, her quiet breathing and the gentle rustle of fabric catching on branches the only sounds she made.
He offered her a hand as she reached the top, pulling her up and out easily. The hair on his nape stood on end. His body hummed with adrenaline. He knew these woods. He knew the peaceful solitude and quiet that sunset brought to them.
This wasn’t it. He didn’t dare pull out his phone, afraid the screen light would give away their location. The tree-cover was thicker farther from the creek. He led Anna there, jogging up hill and deeper into the forest. Decades ago, the area had been mined extensively. Now, it was pockmarked with abandoned tunnels and man-made caves. He had explored many of them. If he could reach the closest, they would at least have cover from gunfire while he planned the next step of their escape.
“I don’t like this,” Anna murmured, her voice breaking through the unnatural quiet.
He didn’t either, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. No sense adding to her worry or doing anything that might call attention to their location. They were heading across a ridge that protruded over the river. He could hear the rush of water far below. Large boulders stood sentinel over a nearly sheer three-hundred-foot drop. He dragged Annalise around the closest one, desperate to get her out of the line of fire.
“Stay here.” He whispered so close to her ear, he could feel loose strands of her hair tickling his lips.
“Where are you going?” She grabbed his arm, her eyes wide, her pale skin nearly glowing in the moonlight. She wore dark leggings and running shoes, but her long-sleeved t-shirt was white, her running vest bright blue.
“I want to see if we’re being followed.”
“I’d rather keep moving. Together,” she replied, her hand still on his arm.
“I’m not going to abandon you here, Anna. I’ll be back for you.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. There are men with guns out there,” she hissed.
“I’m armed.” He tried to reassure her, but she shook her head.
“You’re one against many. Those aren’t good odds.”
“Stay here,” he repeated. He didn’t have time to argue with her or to explain that he had spent years in the military working special ops.
He eased around the boulder, staying close to its granite face. Moonlight glittered on mineral-rich earth and painted the treetops white-gold. It was a beautiful night. The kind that had drawn him back to Texas and to the ranch after he had been medically discharged from the Navy. He had longed for the slow-pace of small town life, the busyness of the cattle business, the feel of being home. He’d had no idea his grandfather had mortgaged the property to help pay for his grandmother’s cancer treatments. He hadn’t known how far in arears the payments were. He had just known that he wanted to be where life made sense.
He scanned the area below the ridge, spotted a quick flash of light that could have been a dimmed flashlight beam or a cell phone. Either way, he and Anna weren’t alone. They were being followed. He wasn’t sure how they were being tracked so easily. The wilderness was vast. The possibilities for their escape endless, but Anna’s assailants seemed to be heading straight toward their location.
He rounded the boulder and grabbed her hand, dragging her toward the cliff that overlooked the river.
“If you’re planning to drag me over the edge of the cliff, I’d rather take my chances here,” she said.
“There’s a way down.”
“One that doesn’t require wings or a parachute?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. She didn’t ask what he had seen. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
“Now isn’t the time for jokes,” he muttered.
“That wasn’t a joke,” she responded.
“Stay close,” he warned as he stepped between two boulders and found the path that wound down to the river.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” she murmured, her voice shaking, her fear palpable.
He couldn’t blame her. To their left, the earth fell away, pebbles clattering over the edge of the narrow path that had probably been carved into the cliff hundreds of years ago. It had been shored up and used by miners in the early twentieth century—the treacherous path leading to the entrance of a mining tunnel that had been blasted into the hillside.
Light cut through the grayish night, dancing on spindly trees that speared out from the sheered hillside a dozen yards away. They had minutes before Anna’s assailants reached the top of the hill. Maybe less. He picked up his speed, knowing they were like fish in a barrel—easily picked off by gunmen shooting from the above.
Annalise stumbled. Just a little. Just enough to make his pulse jump and his breath catch.
“Careful.”
“Trust me. I’m trying to be. I’m also trying to hurry. Those lights are a little too close for comfort.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Where? The bottom?” She stumbled again.
“Don’t look down, okay? Focus on the path. There’s a mining tunnel a little farther down. We’ll duck in there.”
“And do what? Wait for them to track us there? We’ll be trapped, and I’m not interested in having that happen.”
“We won’t be trapped. There’s another exit. I wouldn’t go in it otherwise.” He picked his way down a narrow man-made path that opened onto a wide ledge. The cave was a dark hole in a pale sea of exposed granite. They reached it as an avalanche of pebbles and dirt rained down on their heads.
“Get inside,” he urged, as he nudged Annalise through the four-foot opening. More dirt splattered onto the granite as he followed her into inky darkness. Seconds later, gunfire split the silence. Bullets pinged off the rock at the mouth of the cave and the earth trembled. Old beams that had been used to shore up the roof of the cave groaned and the entire hill seemed to shift.
He had anticipated gunfire.
He hadn’t anticipated this.
A cave-in could easily do the assassins’ jobs for them.
Mac couldn’t let that happen.
“Move!” he shouted, grabbing Annalise’s arm and yanking her deeper into the cave as a small cloud of dust and particles filled the opening. He kept moving, his hand tight around Anna’s arm as they raced through the darkness. An avalanche of shale, old wood and dirt followed, the dust from the collapsing cave, filling his lungs and coating his skin.
He couldn’t hear anything over the roar of falling debris, but he could feel Anna coughing, her body shaking with the force of it. He hadn’t brought her to the cave to die, but if they didn’t keep moving, that might be the outcome.
He sprinted forward, dragging her with him, praying that they could make it to safety before the entire mine collapsed.
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HIDDEN WITNESS by Shirlee McCoy,
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Copyright © 2020 by Shirlee McCoy