Deliver Us from Evil Page 18

  “Oh, good, the helicopter’s landing.” Lincoln spoke louder than necessary, causing them to jump apart. He eased a hand under Brannon’s elbow. “You ready?”

  She nodded but kept her gaze locked on Roark. He reached out a finger and traced the line of her cheek, planted a quick kiss on her temple, then stepped back to let the rangers pass onto the landing pad.

  He watched them duck into the waiting helicopter, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to jump from his chest. Roark knew the statistics of people in intense situations often finding themselves attracted to each other. This should have been just that—a statistic.

  But he knew himself, and what he was feeling for Brannon was more. Or it could be.

  He didn’t have time to analyze what could be—he had a successful assignment that failed. Roark had to concentrate on salvaging his job, his career.

  Yet he had a feeling that a certain set of mismatched eyes would haunt his dreams.

  NINETEEN

  Saturday, 9:15 p.m.

  Helipad, Parkwest Medical Center

  Knoxville, Tennessee

  WHAT WAS WRONG WITH her?

  Brannon blinked back the tears until Lincoln helped her into the copilot’s seat. As the helicopter lifted into the air, she set the headset onto her head. Within seconds a voice hummed in her ear. “Well, hello, hotshot. How was your adventure?”

  Just his voice twisted her insides into knots. She swiped her knuckles across her cheek and glanced over to her new coworker. A mass of shiny golden blond hair topped a tan and rugged face. Jefferson Montgomery was going to be a thorn in her side.

  She keyed the controller to engage the headset. “Hi, Jefferson. Thanks for picking us up.”

  “Anytime. You know I love flying.”

  Brannon took stock of the helicopter. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Local aerial tour company heard about your chopper getting shot up, so they loaned us this one.”

  Nice of them, but she couldn’t help wondering what NPS would do for the future. She could only hope her Dolphin had been well insured. Otherwise, she and Jefferson might both be out of jobs. And her a home, since District demanded she live at the station 24-7.

  “Heard you injured your ankle. How is it?”

  “Doctor says I’ll only need to stay off of it a couple of days or so.” A sliver of competitiveness stabbed her heart. “I’ll be back flying by the weekend.”

  “No hurry. I can cover all the flying needed.” He pulled back on the collective.

  Just what she was afraid of. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to think of something else. Her mind shifted to Roark. Of being in his arms. Of kissing him. Fresh tears burned her eyes. His kiss had been good-bye. She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t give one iota that she’d never see him again.

  But she did.

  “I heard your rescue was a success.”

  Why did Jefferson continue to make small talk? “Partially.”

  “You got that marshal and the heart out. Must’ve been some adventure.”

  “Yes.” The bitter burn of failure left a bad taste in her mouth. “But the pilot and flight medic died, and the person who was to receive the heart died anyway.”

  “Humph. That’s not your problem, though, right?”

  “Actually, it is. It’s not only my problem but every upstanding citizen’s, too. That witness was going to blow the lid off a child-trafficking ring. Now . . .” She spread her palms and stared out the bubble window.

  “I see.”

  She wasn’t in the mood to deal with this man right now. She wanted to crawl into bed and mourn her failures—losing those men and then the witness. And just as surely, losing Roark. She sniffed against a pity party.

  Lincoln pulled her headset away from her ear and whispered, “‘May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands.’”

  Her heart lifted for a moment, and she smiled over her shoulder at him. He understood her better than anyone. “Too easy. You made me learn this when I became a ranger. Psalm 90:17.” She let out a hiccupping breath. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  He winked, then leaned back in his seat.

  “Am I missing something?” Jefferson tilted his head as he kept his eyes on the terrain.

  Her spirits soared higher than the altitude of the aircraft. “Lincoln was just reminding me that I have control over nothing in this world.” She smiled wider as Jefferson spared her a fleeting glance. “God’s always in control over everything, even our jobs.”

  “You believe in God, faith, and all that?”

  “One hundred percent.” She wet her lips. “Don’t you?” This conversation felt an awful lot like the one she’d had with Roark not too long ago.

  Roark. The knife in her heart twisted another inch.

  “Not really.” Jefferson’s breath wisped against his microphone. “Seems to me if there was a great and powerful God, such bad things wouldn’t happen in the world. I think people dictate what goes on in their lives.”

  “That’s where faith comes in. The believing in what you can’t see because you know it to be true.” She glanced at Jefferson, wondering if her words ministered to him.

  He was quiet for a while. “Interesting way of looking at it. I suppose you use whatever you have to in order to deal with stuff.”

  She bit her tongue, knowing she should just pray for him and keep her mouth shut. He showed no inclination toward being witnessed to. Not right now.

  “For instance, my mom died only a month ago. Did God do that?”

  Brannon swallowed, choosing her words with care. “I’m sorry you lost your mom. I don’t profess to know all the answers as to why things happen.”

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving the airspace before them. “Cancer. She’d been fighting it for years.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you close to your stepfather?”

  Jefferson snorted. “Not hardly. He didn’t even bother to stay with her when she died. He called to tell me she’d passed away and to come to the house. When I got there, I found my mother’s body, but my stepfather was gone. Just vanished. Not that I care, mind you, but he should’ve at least had the decency to stay around to bury her and settle their estate.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah.” He popped his knuckles. “How does God play into that?”

  “He’ll provide comfort, if you let Him,” Lincoln said.

  Jefferson harrumphed. The helicopter shifted. As Jefferson began the descent, regret filled Brannon’s heart. Why hadn’t she told Roark about her feelings for him? If only she could’ve witnessed to him more, been a better example, talked to him awhile longer—who knew what strides she could have made with him? Why hadn’t she pressed the issue? Brannon gazed over her shoulder at Lincoln. Had his words halted her in witnessing stronger to Roark?

  As soon as the skids touched the concrete, Brannon yanked off the headset and jumped from the loaned helicopter. Her momentary lack of acknowledgment of her injury came back in record time when she put weight on her left leg. The pain pills the doctor had given her didn’t even mask the agony. Teetering as she hopped on one foot and gripped the helicopter door, Brannon gritted her teeth.

  Lincoln handed her the set of crutches, smiling. Didn’t he realize how horrid they were—an outward, visible sign of her weakness? She shook her head, making his smile spread into a full grin. He took the offensive sticks and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Let’s get inside and check on Steve.”

  The wind cut through the air, chilling Brannon deep down into the warm recesses of her body. She shivered and shifted closer to Lincoln. If there was any justice in the world, it would have been Roark helping her.

  She wouldn’t dwell on Roark or what could have
been between them any longer. She pushed him out of her mind as hard as she pushed open the station door.

  Steve rushed to her side, pulling her from Lincoln and into a big bear hug. “Girlie, I was so worried about you.” He scrutinized her, as if checking for himself that she was really okay.

  “Oh, I’m fine, Steve, thanks for asking,” Lincoln chuckled as he leaned the crutches against the coat tree.

  Looking over to Lincoln, Steve laughed. “Well, I knew you weren’t injured like Brannon here.” His soft gaze rested back on her, pushing back the chill settling over her. “I’m just so glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

  “Nah, I’m fine.” She hugged her boss with a final squeeze, then hopped to lower herself onto the couch. Letting out a long sigh, she rested her head against the lumpy cushion. “But I sure am glad to be back home.”

  “Speaking of home, you ought to hit the shower, then to bed with you,” Steve said.

  “I am tired.” She ran a hand over her face, realizing the fatigue of the past couple of days had crept up on her. “It’s been a long day.”

  Lincoln stood in front of her and held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you.”

  She let him tug her to a standing position. Dizziness swarmed, and she swayed. Lincoln pulled her to him. “You okay, Brannon?”

  “Yeah. I think the pain medication is kicking in, though. The room feels like it’s spinning.”

  “Get her to bed.” Steve’s voice boomed across the room.

  Lincoln didn’t wait for an argument, just took control. No good-byes were necessary, and she didn’t know if she could muster the strength to find her voice. All Brannon was aware of was the ache in her leg.

  He led her to the door separating the ranger station from her home, flipping on lights as they passed them. Brannon gritted her teeth, concentrating on making it to bed without getting sick all over the place.

  Once Lincoln helped her to her room, he placed a kiss on her temple and left, turning off the lights as he went. She fell across the bed. The hum of the heater coaxed Brannon into a semisleep state.

  Images flitted across her mind—the Bell engulfed in flames, losing a helicopter pilot, getting shot at, hiking through the woods, Roark’s smile, Roark’s eyes, Roark’s kiss . . .

  Sunday, 10:00 a.m.

  Suburb South of Townsend, Tennessee

  SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH THE dirty window pane, spilling brightness into a room void of hope. A bird perched on the windowsill and tweeted, startling Mai. She jumped, staring over her shoulder. A long whoosh of air tore from her lungs and snuck past her lips. She took a moment to study the free creature preening his wings before turning back to her task. Freedom, would she have it again?

  She pressed her fingers into the hole in the edge of the mattress against the third hidden supplies stash—the cache was full. A smile pushed into her face as her heart sped. Dare she allow herself to believe they could succeed? She pounced in the center of the mattress, almost landing right on Kanya.

  Her friend groaned, rolled onto her stomach, and buried her face in the mattress. “I need sleep. Leave me alone.” Her words were sleepy in her native tongue.

  Leaning over, Mai hovered next to Kanya’s ear. “We can leave soon,” she breathed, then shoved away.

  Kanya jerked around and upright in one fluid motion. Her eyes widened, and moisture pooled over the dark orbs. “We have enough supplies?”

  “Enough for three days, if we are careful. That should be plenty of time to get to help.” Mai drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Tomorrow is perfect, since Madam Nancy always leaves for a couple of hours on Monday nights. All the girls say so.”

  Kanya tucked errant strands of ebony hair behind her ear. “Where does she go? Every Monday night, I mean?”

  “I do not know.” Mai shrugged. “I do not care. The point is she leaves, and that is when we will make our escape.” She swallowed. Sweet freedom whispered, calling to her. A shiver vibrated throughout her body. She would succeed. Or die trying.

  Anything was better than staying here and doing nothing.

  “What is our plan? Who will help us?” Kanya, being younger, looked to Mai for direction and instruction. She blinked and sniffed.

  For a moment Mai forgot the horrors they had endured—her friend had not yet lost the look of innocence. Would she, herself, ever get that back? Ever? Mai gave herself a mental shake. No, it was too late for her—she would never be innocent again. She had seen too much, lived through too much. She would never be the same. A part of her had been lost forever, stolen by the dirty American men. Hatred flamed her heart.

  “Mai?” Kanya touched her shoulder, drawing her from her thoughts. The hope in her eyes filled the room with a light brighter than the sunbeams now dancing over the floor.

  After days of snowstorms, was the appearance of the sun a sign that all would be okay? Mai wished it so. Determination gripped her in a tight hold. She would escape and lead Kanya to freedom as well. “We will wait until Madam Nancy leaves. Fred will come in, but we should be safe. He likes Oneia, and as soon as Madam Nancy leaves, he will go visit her.” Mai shuddered. “That will give us an hour to get out of the house and through the woods in the back.”

  “We go through the woods?” Kanya’s eyes widened even more. “Why can we not go down the street if Fred will be busy?”

  Mai inhaled deeply, held it a moment, and then let it out in a rush. “Because we cannot risk someone seeing us.”

  She pushed to her feet and strode to the window. The snow clumped on the bare branches, weighing the limbs down until they bowed. Several inches of snow lay packed on the ground. The sun reflected off the pristine snow, causing Mai to blink. Even with her eyes closed, white dots floated across her vision.

  She turned back to Kanya. The tips of her fingers resting against the sill chilled. “We need to find extra clothes. Can you lift some of Aelita’s? Maybe her long underpants?”

  “I can try.” Kanya stood and joined Mai at the window, pressing her nose against the glass. “It looks cold out there.” She turned her expressive eyes back to Mai’s face. “Can we really make it?”

  “We have to try.” Seeing the uncertainty cross Kanya’s features, Mai stiffened her spine. She wouldn’t show doubt to her friend. “I have paid attention when Madam Nancy has spoken with the clients, so I have a mental map of the area. We will make it through the woods within an hour. After that, we will hit the valley of the mountainside. All we have to do is follow it for a couple of miles, and we will enter a national park.”

  “What does that mean?” Kanya wrapped a thick strand of hair around her finger, twirling and twisting the hair into knots.

  “It means there are people in a national park who will protect us from Madam Nancy.”

  “How can we trust anyone?” Kanya frowned.

  Mai shrugged. “We do not have a choice. I have heard these people are good—are the law here in America. We have to take the chance.”

  “Will Madam Nancy come after us?” Kanya shuddered. Her shoulders protruded out as she hunched over.

  Mai shook her head. “She will send someone after us. That is why we have to move fast.” She gripped her friend’s shoulders. “We will have to run, Kanya—get a head start before she realizes we are gone. It is our only hope.”

  TWENTY

  Monday, 8:10 a.m.

  US Marshals Office, Howard Baker Federal Courthouse

  Knoxville, Tennessee

  THE SUN BEATING DOWN on the terrain the past several hours had raised the temperatures, but they hadn’t crept above freezing yet. Most likely wouldn’t. Roark almost slipped as he bounded up the stairs into the Knoxville marshals’ office. He passed security with a flash of his badge, then paused at the elevator bay. As of late, he’d taken the stairs, but today, well, today he punched the
button and waited for the elevator.

  He caught his reflection in the polished steel doors. His eyes could be mistaken for road maps with all the red lines streaking through them. Roark ran a hand through his hair, trying to bring the strands under control. No way would anyone expect him to be back in the office so early. No one but himself. Then again, nobody would be surprised to see him, either. His dedication to the job was a given.

  Even after the Mindy incident.

  Stepping from the elevator onto the third floor, he strode toward the conference room. He knew where his boss would be—holed up reviewing the files. The rubber soles of Roark’s shoes squeaked against the nondescript tile floor. He knocked on the door once, then turned the knob.

  Gerald Demott nodded as Roark strode into the room and dropped into a vacant chair after tossing his coat across the end of the table.

  “Couldn’t get any rest, Holland?”

  “Not when there’s work to be done.” And the haunting images of Brannon’s eyes tormenting him hadn’t helped any, either. Roark shook off the hours he’d tossed and turned in his bed the last two nights, only managing to twist his sheets into tight knots. “What have we got?”

  “NSA is working overtime on the papers Jonathan Wilks had when he appeared at the FBI.” He gestured over the mess of papers and files on the table. “If only he’d brought in a key to the stupid thing. We can only pray they’ll figure out the accounting mess.”

  Roark chose to ignore the praying comment Demott had spit out so second naturedly. He was accustomed to his boss’s religious statements and normally ignored them. But after being around Brannon and Lincoln, the comment seemed to jump out and smack him between the eyes. Was somebody trying to make a point? Was there a message he was supposed to get?