The Guardian's Mission. Shirlee McCoy

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СКАЧАТЬ though, was going to be different. Johnson might think Tristan was clueless about their destination, but informants had been willing to leak the auction’s location to the ATF for a price. A few hours. That’s all that stood between the men who were dealing in illegal weapons and justice.

      Tristan smiled with grim satisfaction, holding a thorny branch back and motioning for the woman to step past. One gunrunner, one gang leader, one weapon at a time, he was doing what he’d pledged to do after his brother had been shot and almost killed—evening the odds, adding one more good guy to the fight against the bad guys. Now, though, he had something else to think about. Someone else. An unknown player in an unpredictable game.

      As if she sensed his thoughts, the woman glanced his way, her expression hiding whatever she felt. “How much farther?”

      “Not much.”

      “Which could mean anything.” She frowned, wiping at her face again. Rain. Not tears. Tristan was pretty sure of that.

      “Which means we’ll be there soon. Then this will be over and we’ll be out of here.” Anything else was unacceptable. Anything else could leave one or both of them dead. “Just keep your head together, Sunshine, and everything will be fine.”

      “Hurry it up, you two. We’ve got places to be.” Johnson shot a look over his shoulder, his flat eyes settling on the woman.

      Tristan didn’t like the surge of interest that blazed in his eyes, the flash of heat that brought the only hint of life he’d ever seen into Johnson’s gaze.

      He dropped his arm across Sunshine’s shoulder, praying she wouldn’t jerk away and give Johnson something else to speculate on. “Pick up the pace then. We’ll keep up.”

      As Johnson turned away again, Tristan let his arm slip from Sunshine’s shoulders, grabbing her hand instead, squeezing gently and silently sealing their partnership. Whether she liked it or not, they were in this together. Lord willing, they’d make it out together, too.

      THREE

      Martha told herself she shouldn’t be comforted by the warm, callused palm pressing against hers, or by the well-muscled arm brushing her shoulder. Somehow though, she was. Which proved just how scared she was. She didn’t know Sky, and she didn’t trust him.

      What she did trust were her instincts, and right now they were telling her that flat-eyed, freckle-faced Johnson was a killer. The gun he’d pulled had been a Glock 22, a weapon so powerful that the bullet would kill her before she had time to realize she was dying.

      The thought made her shiver.

      She didn’t want to die today. She wasn’t going to die. She had too many things she still wanted to accomplish. That cross-stitch project she’d planned to make for Dad and Sue’s anniversary but had never finished. The missions trip to Mexico. The vacation to Australia she’d been dreaming about since she was old enough to have dreams. The ten pounds she wanted to lose so she could fit into flirty little summer dresses.

      Not that her size was going to matter when she was lying inside a coffin.

      Don’t even go there, Marti.

      You are not going to die.

      At least, she hoped she wasn’t going to die. Who knew what God’s plans were? She sure didn’t. Every time she thought she had a handle on what He wanted for her life, He spun her around and started her in a new direction. Case in point—Brian. She’d been so sure he was the one, so certain God had brought them together. Funny how easy it was to believe something was right when you wanted it badly enough. Even funnier how little all of that mattered in light of the fact that she might not survive the next few hours.

      Rain continued to fall as they picked their way along an overgrown road, the raindrops like tears that streaked the earth and trees, muddling the colors so that they blended and bled. Probably washing away any evidence that Martha and the two men had passed this way, too. She glanced around, trying to get her bearings, and realized with a start that they were heading toward an abandoned logging camp. She and her dad had hiked this way many times before, even staying overnight in the cabin that had once served as an office. There wasn’t much left of the place—a couple of rusted trailers, the cabin. Another half century and the entire place would be overgrown and covered with vegetation.

      What kind of business would take place so far from civilization?

      What kind of men would be there?

      Not the kind of business she wanted to be involved in. Not the kind of men she should be around.

      Yet here she was, going where she didn’t want to go, with men she shouldn’t be with, and she had absolutely no idea how to get out of the situation.

      Any time you’re ready, Lord, I’m open for suggestions.

      She hoped for sudden inspiration, a quick solution to her troubles. She got nothing.

      Her fingers itched to unzip her pack and pull out one of her chocolate bars. A little sugar, a little energy and maybe her brain would start functioning and she could figure a way out of the situation. She started to shrug out of the pack, but froze as Sky speared her with a hard stare. “What are you doing?”

      Johnson must have heard because he turned, his dead eyes jumping from Martha to Sky and back again. “What’s going on?”

      Don’t panic. Be a ditzy, stupid woman who thought it would be adventurous to wander through the Blue Ridge Mountains with Sky and his friends.

      She forced herself to let the pack slide the rest of the way down her arms. “Just thinking I’d have a snack.”

      “A snack?” Sky’s jaw twitched, his blue eyes boring into hers.

      She forced strength back into legs that had gone wobbly and did her best to act as if she didn’t know how much danger she was in. “Yes. A snack. A girl’s got to eat. Right? It’s not like you gave me a chance to have lunch before we left.”

      “Let me give you a hand with that.” Johnson yanked the pack from her hands, his eyes gleaming with the hard gaze of a predator and filling Martha with cold dread.

      “Knock yourself out.”

      He rifled through the pack, then thrust it at Sky. “No more stops.”

      “Or else” hung in the air, unspoken, but Martha heard it clearly enough. She was also pretty sure that if she looked hard enough, she could see the outline of Johnson’s gun beneath the lightweight jacket he wore. It would take only seconds for him to pull it, fire it and wash his probably-already-stained-with-blood hands of the situation.

      Fear loosened her muscles and joints and made walking almost impossible. Only Sky’s firm grip on her hand kept her going. She wanted to go home to her little cottage in the woods, sit on the front porch and watch the sunset behind the mountains one last time; bask in the colors, the feel, the scent of it. Crisp, cool, alive. She wanted to hug her father, tell him she loved him, kiss his leathery cheek just once more. Wanted to go out with her girlfriends, have a slice of Doris’s apple pie, inhale the scent of laughter, the heady aroma of joy.

      Hot tears worked their way down her cheek, mixing with cold rain.

      “Chocolate?” СКАЧАТЬ