Macey Price muttered under her breath and stomped through damp leaves in the small wooded area behind her house. She brushed twigs out of her face in the rapidly deepening twilight. “Wait until I find that mutt.” How in the world had he slipped out? He’d been in the house when she’d left for her run, hadn’t he?
It didn’t really matter. One street away from home, as Macey walked to cool down, Kito had come streaking past, galloping down a firebreak and alongside the edge of the woods. She’d tracked him along the wood line back toward the house. Should have stayed on the road. It would have been easier.
“One more time. One more Houdini escape and it’s back to the rescue you came from.” Okay, so she didn’t really mean it. She’d sooner spend all of her evenings traipsing through the undergrowth calling Kito’s name than give him up. The way that husky took off at the least squirrel or shadow was a small price to pay for his tail-wagging furry affection when he came home again an hour or so later.
An hour or so later, Macey stopped walking, ankle-deep in wet leaves and mud. When Kito decided to run, he always came back and either pawed at the front door or jumped the fence into Trey Burns’s yard next door. This woods walk was pointless. She angled up the slight hill to dry ground and followed privacy fences along the back of the houses on her street. She’d take the shower she desperately needed after her planned post-work jog and her unplanned tromp through the swampy woods, then eat dinner on the deck so she could keep an eye on Trey’s yard.
When her roommate had brought the dog home two years ago, training the willful pup had been a beast. Olivia’s frequent work trips had made Kito feel more like Macey’s dog anyway. She’d actually inherited Kito when Olivia died in a car accident in Italy two months ago.
No, she really wouldn’t trade him.
As she rounded the Jacksons’ privacy fence, her brick ranch came into view. Macey opened her mouth to call one more time, just in case Kito had doubled back, but something stilled her feet and her words.
A beam of light moved across the glass door that led from the elevated deck into her dining room.
Someone was in her house.
Instinctively, Macey dropped to one knee, seeking feeble cover behind her split-rail-and-chicken-wire fence. She dared not move, dared not breathe as her heart picked up past double time. Her teeth clamped into her lower lip so tightly she should have tasted blood. Soggy leaves soaked damply through the knee of her leggings. She needed her phone. Maybe even a really big stick. Something.
Another beam passed across the windows in Olivia’s bedroom. She swallowed hard against a rising tide of bile. No one had been in that room since the call that Olivia had died. Now at least two intruders were walking through Macey’s home and likely digging through her things, searching...taking.
Far from scared, she was angry. Violated. Determined. There had to be something she could do to stop this.
Macey glanced around in the rapidly darkening twilight, searching for a way to fight back. She hadn’t taught self-defense in college for nothing.
The back of her property sat on high ground, dropping off quickly at the back. The house to her left was empty since the Jacksons were on an early fall trip to Disney World. Trey Burns lived on the other side, but his house had been dark since he’d gone on a field exercise with his unit two days earlier. The reason she was keeping an eye on his place. And the reason she was on her own.
The smart thing would be to slip back the way she’d come. It would be easy to edge back through the trees to the neighbor who shared her back woods and call 9-1-1 from there.
But by the time the police arrived, everything she owned could be gone. Shucking off the reflective jacket she wore when she ran, Macey tossed it aside and prepared to slip closer to the house. Maybe her appearance would scare them off.
But the back door to the deck flew open and a man stepped outside. A bulky silhouette in the near darkness, he swung the beam of a high-powered flashlight across the backyard, concentrating close to the house at first, then sweeping in ever-widening arcs toward the fence. Macey hunkered lower. Suddenly, facing huge men by herself didn’t seem like such a good idea. God, don’t let him spot me. Prayer wasn’t her usual go-to, but now seemed like a good time to start.
A second man joined him on the deck, invisible behind the light he swung in a crisscross over the first man’s. “Can’t find anything inside.” The voice was low but it hung heavy in the damp evening air, his Deep South accent drawling the words thick and slow. The words sent a chill along Macey’s arms, turning post-run sweat into cold, clammy fear.
“Want to take the girl if she comes back? Wasn’t the plan but might as well bring them something instead of nothing.”
These men were looking for quick cash by any means necessary, even if it meant—Macey clamped her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t get sick. She wouldn’t.
“Sure. You wait in the house. I’ll cover outside.” One light vanished as the door closed, while the second man lumbered down the deck stairs, flashlight searching as he moved.
Her breath caught in her throat, nearly strangling her. Split rails and chicken wire gave her no cover. If he came this way and scanned the woods...
A crash in the dry leaves drew a gasp from Macey and a cry from the man hunting her. She pressed her full body into the damp ground, hoping Kito wouldn’t give away her position. Hoping the man wouldn’t see her. Hoping for somebody, somewhere, to rescue her from a situation she’d never imagined in her worst nightmares.
Kito streaked from the dark woods behind the Jacksons’ house, then veered to the right toward the creek, probably on the trail of an unsuspecting cat. Macey had always been fond of stray cats, but never so much as in that moment, when one lured her dog from danger.
The husky might be safe, but when Macey lifted her head from the damp leaves, the beam of light bounced across the ground in front of her and reflected off her jacket only a few feet away. Why hadn’t she thrown it farther?
The light swung back, footsteps pounded and a shout followed. Heart hammering in every pore of her body, Macey abandoned all pretense of hiding, scrambled to her feet and ran into the woods.
If she could only scream for help, but no words would come out of her dry mouth. There wasn’t enough oxygen to power her body and release a cry.
She heard a thud. Her pursuer must have jumped the fence to tear after her through the underbrush. He might be faster, but thanks to Kito’s frequent wandering, she knew these woods. If she could keep this pace for the half mile through the swamp to the main road, she’d be safe. Surely no one would hurt her in front of witnesses.
The man behind her crashed closer until she could hear his hard breathing and his fingertips brushed the back of her shirt. More. She needed more.
His fingers grasped her shirt and he jerked her to a halt.
Her head whipped back and hit her attacker’s cheek, shooting painful stars across her vision as he yanked her off her feet.
With a violent yank, he twisted and threw her facedown to the ground, pinning her with a knee between her shoulder blades.
Macey struggled, dead leaves and mud sliding against her cheek and forcing their way into her mouth. She gagged.
The man dug his knee in harder, grinding her spine until she whimpered and went limp, the pain too blinding to fight.
After pulling her arms behind her back, he hefted himself up, then yanked her to her feet. The motion nearly ripped her shoulders from their sockets, bringing instant numbness into her fingers. He leaned closer, his breath hot on her cheek. “You shouldn’t have run.” He twisted her arm tighter against her back. “Would have been easier if you hadn’t run.” The hard press of steel dug into her spine. “I wouldn’t suggest doing it again.”
Macey didn’t let her shoulders fall, not even with a gun to her back. No matter that her insides quivered and quaked, she couldn’t show fear. She had to stay strong, to look for an opportunity. She had years of self-defense training behind her, and though she might be rusty, she sure wasn’t weak.
The hard part would be waiting for the right moment when all she wanted was to fight now, harder than she ever had before. She had to trust her training.
Her feet stumbled as her captor shoved her toward the house, but she righted herself and kept going, refusing to speak. As long as she was silent, her voice wouldn’t tremble and give away the fear that coursed through her. She had to appear stoic; any sign of weakness would give this guy and his partner the upper hand.
The man practically hauled her over the fence, then half dragged her across the yard. By the front fence at the corner of the house, he shoved her against the brick wall, pinning her there with the back of her neck. He peeked around the corner to survey the area.
Her assailant turned to her, his ice-blue eyes too close. He scanned her face and seemed to search for something in her expression. His focus was cold and menacing. “You’re too quiet. Makes me wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.” He jabbed the gun into her ribs, and she fought a gasp. “Just don’t get to thinking that smart can outrun a bullet.” His baritone voice scraped against her ear. It held the frightening darkness of deep woods, violent sports and too much whiskey. Like her father before he’d left.
As he leaned around the corner again, the pressure on her neck eased. The gun slipped to the right.
Now.
Macey threw her free hand up and caught the man’s wrist. The gun clattered against the house.
As he turned toward her, she thrust out her palm and caught him square in the nose. A horrific crunch followed the blow as blood streamed down his face.
The man roared and grabbed his face.
Macey shoved him backward to the ground and scrambled over the fence, heading for the street. Someone had to be home on her cul-de-sac. Someone had to help her.
She rounded the corner of the house and collided with another man. He pressed his hand against her mouth, wrapped his arm around her waist and then dragged her toward a van idling in her drive.
Get Macey Price. Now.
For months, Trey Blackburn had been sitting on “go,” battling a surge of adrenaline every time a new text message chimed. Today the command to move had finally come. Whatever intel his team had received from others in the network, it was serious enough to break his cover and demanded he move quickly.
If he wasn’t already too late.
In his infantry days, he’d been on call for missions that hadn’t revved his adrenaline this high. The engine of his pickup fought to race under his foot, but he couldn’t risk flying through the small neighborhood of houses built on large wooded lots. Still, the tires barely hugged the road when he whipped past his cul-de-sac and spotted a white construction van in Macey Price’s driveway.
The sight made his heart pound even harder. His fingers itched to call for backup, but there was none. With his team based in the mountains of North Carolina, he was the sole member undercover several hours away at Fort Bragg. The police would be a big help, but mission security dictated he maintain anonymity. So against his better judgment, he resisted the urge to dial 9-1-1. It was up to him to take Macey Price into custody if she was about to flee. And it looked like she might have accomplices.
Maintaining speed to keep from scaring his suspects into doing something stupid, Trey pulled into the driveway of a house for sale on the neighborhood’s main street. He shut off the engine, shoved the flashlight from his glove box into his back pocket and walked around the side of the house as though nothing was wrong. It took everything in him not to run for Macey’s house, but doing so without recon could be deadly. Still, time was short and he had to move quickly.
Whatever Macey Price was into, whomever the bad guys were that she was dealing with, something had apparently snapped and they’d decided to make a move. She’d given no indication the day before that anything was wrong. She’d treated his undercover persona just like she always had as they’d watched hockey while snacking on pizza. If she was truly guilty, she was very good at deception.
Once he gained the rear of the vacant house, he doubled back, crossed the road and slipped through side yards to his own backyard. The cover of soft darkness in the damp evening brought a short breath of gratitude. In the same thought, he was glad for the pistol at his hip, even though he desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
He crept closer, watching that van, but there was no motion around it. If Macey was packing up to bolt, she was taking her time. Or it could be something worse. If she was already in the vehicle, he’d failed in his mission because she would vanish, likely forever.
There was no counting the ways he’d pay for that kind of mistake. If Macey was truly guilty and she escaped, the case the government had been building for nearly a year against shadowy figures stealing military intelligence would crumble between his fingers.
But if she was innocent, the way he was beginning to suspect, then the danger was even more grave.
At the corner of his house, Trey’s feet sank into the grass. He waited for any sound from next door before he peeked around the corner. Voices, low and angry, drifted through the early evening darkness from near the driveway.
Trey slipped around the corner and stayed close to brick still warm from the sun, edging closer to Macey’s house as he plotted a strategy. From the sound of it, there were only two men helping Macey, unless more were hiding somewhere. It was a risk Trey had to take.
Illuminated in the porch light, two men were moving toward Macey’s driveway, one carrying a body slung across his shoulder.
Macey. She wasn’t trying to run. She was being kidnapped.
He shouldn’t feel an emotional drop in his stomach at the thought she might be hurt. Not now. Not under any circumstances, actually. But he did.
He’d unpack that later. At the moment, he had one chance to salvage this mission, but only if he acted now. The way he figured it, the clock offered him two seconds to assess the situation and do everything right the first time.
If he got even one thing wrong, then Macey could vanish or die while some seriously bad dudes would get away with murder. Multiple murders.
The element of surprise would—
A crash and a series of galloping thuds from the side yard of Macey’s house stopped Trey in his thoughts and movements.
It froze Macey’s assailants, too.
What in the world?
The scene spun into motion all at once. Kito bounded around the corner and didn’t hesitate to join in what any playful husky would see as fun and games. He leaped on the man closest to Trey’s position, staggering him backward.
In the same moment, Macey grabbed the belt of the man carrying her and pulled upward. As he lurched forward from the sudden movement, she leveraged her body weight. Kicking her legs to free them, she slid headfirst down the man’s back to the ground, where she rolled to a standing position. She whirled and rushed her off-balance attacker, shoving him to his knees.
Trey didn’t dwell on how impressed he was by the move. He hustled into the fray with an unintelligible shout, heading for the other terrified man who seemed to believe the friendly, jumping husky was trying to kill him.
Before he got there, both men scrambled to their feet and ran for the idling van.
Macey jumped to go after them, but Trey reached her first and grabbed the back of her shirt, hauling her backward against his chest. “If you get near that van, you’ll put yourself in worse danger.”
She moved to attack him but stopped at his words, likely recognizing his voice. Her muscles visibly tensed as the van screeched out of her driveway and roared out of the cul-de-sac. When it disappeared, she whirled on him, wrenching the back of her running shirt from his grasp. “What just happened?” Her shoulders heaved up and down with her breaths. “And where did you come from?”
The way she faced him and the questions she asked told Trey everything he needed to know. Clearly, Macey Price hadn’t been running and his cover hadn’t been blown.
But the fight she’d waged against those men and the innocence of her asks left Trey with questions of his own. Questions he had to answer if he was going to prove her innocence...or put her in prison.
Copyright © 2021 by Jodie Bailey