A Silent Pursuit. Lynette Eason
I called you, I didn’t know how bad they wanted me.”
“Why call me? Why not the cops?”
“Because they’ll just turn it over to the army.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It is if there’s a traitor on the base.”
That shut him up. Then he asked, “Who?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that Mario died during a training exercise. At least that’s what I was told. Who really knows what happened?” Sarcasm dripped. “But if that’s the case, then someone set him up.”
“How do you figure?”
She remained silent for moment.
“Gina?”
“I don’t have any proof. Just a gut feeling. And I know you’ll think that’s crazy, but someone has tried to kill me twice, so I’m leaning on trusting my gut at this point in time.”
This time he paused as he glanced in the rearview mirror, then the side. “Sometimes your gut’s the only thing worth trusting.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what Mario had that these people want. I mean, I’m just a real estate agent from a small town in South Carolina who happened to fall in love with a guy who had a lot of secrets—ones he didn’t bother sharing with me. Or couldn’t share. Who knows? I don’t know anything except that they think I have whatever it is they’re after. Which means I need to figure out what it is and find it before they find me. And I think I need your help to do that.” The words spilled from her in one breath. She finally paused and drew in some air.
“I would say you’re on the right track.” He gave her a gentle smile, and for the first time since her mad dash into the car, she noticed his rugged good looks. She’d always thought him a handsome man, had actually been attracted to him, but had been so committed to Mario, she’d ignored those feelings.
Tonight they returned with a rush.
Wow.
Immediately, she felt guilty. As if she’d just betrayed Mario in some way. It must be the terror-induced adrenaline spiking her senses into hyperawareness. She looked away.
Forcing her thoughts to focus on the important thing—like getting away from a killer—she said, “I had to slip out of a back window at the beach house. I’ve got nothing on me. I don’t know whether to go back to the house and try to get my stuff or have my parents wire me some money. I’m sure they’re already worried enough. I don’t want to add putting them in any kind of danger.”
He placed a hand over hers. “I’ve got you covered. Let’s find a safe place to hole up and hash out what just happened. Then we can worry about other necessities.”
Ian found a little out-of-the-way hotel room and asked for two rooms. Gina stood beside him, shivering, her bare feet probably frozen. He had one person in mind to call whom he trusted, no questions asked. Jason Sutton. A man whose skills as a Ranger had saved Ian’s hide on more than one occasion. A onetime fellow Ranger in the same unit Ian and Mario had served in and a good friend to them both, Jase would come through for him—he hoped.
Finally, they made it to the rooms. Gina entered hers and Ian followed her in. He chose the desk chair, while Gina sat at the table, hands clasped in front of her. Wild dark curls had found freedom from the pink scrunchy that now encircled the lower portion of a ponytail gone bad. She didn’t seem to notice.
“First,” he said as he set his bag in the second chair, “I’ve called my sister, Carly. She’s a U.S. marshal who’s going to come stay with you tonight to protect you while I focus on looking for the guys who just tried to kill us. The faster I’m able to get on this, the faster we’ll figure it out. Now, the marshals aren’t officially on this case, you understand? She’s just doing this because I asked and should be here in a few minutes. But for now tell me everything you can, Gina. Who’s after you?”
She lifted burdened shoulders. “I don’t know, Ian. All I know is that they want something and haven’t found it, yet.”
“Which means they’ll keep coming back until they do.”
She grimaced, rose and walked to the sink. The sound of running water reached his ears, as did the crinkle of plastic covering being torn from a glass. She filled the tumbler and took a long drink.
Sighing, she placed the glass by the sink and paced back to the table. She looked him in the eye. “You knew Mario. Probably better than anyone. He trusted you enough to order me to contact you should something happen to him—and weird things start happening to me. Someone tried to kill me—not once, but twice.” She held up two fingers for emphasis. “I’d say that qualifies as weird enough. You’re here. Now what?”
Nothing like being put on the spot.
Ian stood and paced from one end of the room to the other. Then he turned and said, “Tell me about the first time someone tried to kill you.”
She shuddered and his heart pinched at the distress on her pretty face. A face strained and drawn with the stress that had become her life. “Not my favorite topic of conversation.”
“Come on. I need to hear the details.” He gestured toward the other chair and said, “Have a seat.”
Gina rubbed her eyes, gathered her strength and started. “I had just gotten home from work, having closed on a great house. Everything had gone smoothly, and I was feeling better than I had in months. When I got to my house, I didn’t notice anything wrong. My neighbor pulled into his drive about the same time I did, and I remember waving to him. He waved back and walked to get his mail. I walked up to the door and it was locked. I had to use my key like always.” She swallowed, closing her eyes as she visualized each detail of that day. “I opened the door, stepped inside and someone grabbed me from behind. He put something over my head.” Her breathing became shallow pants at the remembered terror. She had been certain she was going to be raped and killed.
Ian’s hand reached over and grasped hers, holding it in an almost painful grip. She flexed her fingers and he let go. “Sorry.”
Clasping her hands together between her knees, she hunched her shoulders, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Leaning back and staring at the ceiling, she said, “I managed a pretty good scream before they stuffed a rag in my mouth. If they were going to kill me, I was going to make them work for it. I kicked one, got my hand free and managed to get the rag out of my mouth. I remember screaming again.”
This time his hand squeezed her shoulder, and she could feel the tension emanating from him in waves. “I’m sorry to make you recount this, but I’ve got to hear it.”
“I know. It’s all right. It’s just…” She shook her head and he encouraged her with the compassion in his eyes. “Then the one who had me from behind whispered in my ear, ‘Scream again and I’ll slit your throat. Now, where is it?’ He pulled the rag from my mouth and I asked him what he was looking for. He said, ‘Mario stole something from my boss and he wants it back.’”
“What did his voice sound like?” Ian interrupted. “Did he have an accent?”
Gina scrunched her nose as she tried to remember the voice and not the fear. “Maybe a slight one. He whispered so I can’t…no, he didn’t have any kind of distinguishable accent.” Then her head shot up to look him in the eye. “But the other guy did. In fact, I think he spoke a couple of Spanish words.”
Ian raised a brow. “Spanish, huh?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Then what happened?”
“I screamed that I didn’t know what he was talking about, that Mario never told me about anything he stole. Then my neighbor was banging on my