Valley of Shadows. Shirlee McCoy

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      But Hawke wasn’t an attacker. He was a man who’d almost been killed. A man she’d saved. Now he claimed to be saving her. She wasn’t sure if she believed him. All she knew was that eventually there’d be a chance to escape. She could only pray that when it came, she’d know for sure whether or not she should take it.

      THREE

      Hawke’s head throbbed with every movement, every sound reverberating through his brain. He ignored the pain, determined to put as much distance between his new ride and the SUV as possible. It wasn’t just his life on the line this time. He had his passenger to worry about, as well.

      Who was she? What had brought her to the funeral home so late at night? Not the hope of scoring drugs. Hawke was almost sure of that, though he’d been sure of things before and been proven wrong.

      He risked a quick glance in her direction, gritting his teeth at the renewed throbbing in his head. The woman’s arms were crossed at her waist, her eyes trained straight ahead. She looked scared, not high on drugs. “What’s your name?”

      His words must have startled her. She jerked, her arm brushing against his side, her breath leaving on a quick, raspy gasp. “Miranda. Sheldon.”

      “Miranda.” The name rolled off his tongue as if he’d said it a thousand times before. “What were you doing at a funeral home so late at night?”

      “I was taking a walk.” There was more to it than that. Hawke was sure of it, though he couldn’t blame her for denying him answers.

      “And while you were walking you saved my life.”

      “Would you rather I had walked away and let you die?”

      “Other people would have.”

      “I’m not other people. I’m me.”

      “And who is that, Miranda Sheldon? Besides a woman caught up in something she didn’t ask for?”

      “Just your everyday, average American.” Her words were quiet, barely audible above the rumbling of the car and the slushing agony in his skull, but Hawke heard.

      He glanced at Miranda again. The softness he’d noticed when he’d first seen her was only magnified in the close confines of the car. Smooth skin. Shiny hair that fell to her shoulders. Lips and face unadorned. Short unpainted nails. No rings. No jewelry of any kind. Apples. Cinnamon. A sweetness that was obvious even while she was afraid for her life. “There is nothing average or everyday about a woman who’d risk her own life for someone else.”

      She didn’t respond and he knew he should be glad. He needed to plan his next move, not carry on a conversation. He rubbed the back of his neck, ignoring the blood that seeped from his head and coated his fingers. To formulate a plan he’d need more information and he knew just where to get it.

      He yanked open the glove compartment and pulled out the cell phone he kept there, pushing speed dial to connect with the one number stored on it. The phone rang once before it was picked up.

      “Stone, here.” Noah Stone’s voice was tight and gruff, and Hawke knew that the call had been expected. A former DEA agent, Noah was one of the few people who knew Hawke was in the States and what he was doing there. Of those privy to Hawke’s mission, Noah was the only one he trusted.

      “It’s Hawke.”

      “I thought you might be calling.”

      “So you’ve already heard?”

      “That you murdered the agent you were working with and stole fifty thousand dollars cash? Who hasn’t?”

      “I didn’t steal fifty thousand dollars.”

      “That leaves the question of murder open.”

      “Smithfield was dead when I got to the rendezvous.” Lying in a pool of his own blood, his head split open.

      “Murdered with a machete that had your fingerprints all over it.”

      “It should. It’s mine. I left it in Thailand nine months ago.” And yet it was here. He’d seen it with his own eyes—the flat blade and carved-bone handle worn from years of use in the jungles of Mae Hong Son. He’d been leaning down to examine it when he’d been hit from behind.

      Which could only mean one thing. Someone in Thailand had set this up, had probably been planning it from the day the DEA had called Hawke in and offered him a job.

      Hot anger speared through him, frustration making him want to hurl the phone out the car’s window. He tightened his hand around it and growled into the phone. “Look, Stone, if you don’t believe that I’m innocent we’ve got nothing more to say to each other.”

      “I’m on your side in this, Hawke, but I’m standing alone. Whoever set you up did it perfectly. The fingerprints on the weapon have every cop in the contiguous United States looking for you.”

      “What about the DEA?”

      Noah’s hesitation spoke volumes. The Drug Enforcement Agency might have hired Hawke to bring down one of the most notorious drug dealers on the East Coast, but they didn’t trust him.

      “So, they think I’m guilty.”

      “They’re reserving judgment.”

      “Until?”

      “Until they talk to you and your accomplice.”

      Hawke gritted his teeth, shot a look at Miranda. She was eyeing the phone as if a knight in shining armor might be on the other end of the line, ready to ride to her rescue. Unfortunately, Hawke was the only one riding anywhere and he was no knight. “Accomplice? You going to tell me who that is?”

      “A woman. Apparently, the two of you have been seeing each other for several months. According to your coworkers at Green’s factory, you spent more time with her than with anyone else.”

      “Green works fast.”

      “If he didn’t, he would have been out of business and in jail years ago.”

      It was true. One of the East Coast’s most successful drug traffickers, Harold Green was, by most people’s accounts, an upstanding citizen of Essex, Maryland. A churchgoer, city council member and business owner, he hid his true nature beneath a facade of respectability. The DEA had hired Hawke to infiltrate Green’s organization and to bring him down. He’d have succeeded if he hadn’t been betrayed.

      Fury threatened to take hold, but he tamped it down. Losing control meant losing. And Hawke had no intention of doing that. “What else?”

      “Word is, you were apprehended by a Maryland cop. Your accomplice took him by surprise, knocking him out, and you both escaped.”

      “Any news of a second man involved in that?”

      “No. Just Liam Jefferson. Why? Was someone else there?”

      “Yeah. The director of one of Green’s funeral homes. Simmons. Randy.”

      “Do СКАЧАТЬ