ONE

      It was a week until Christmas, and the early morning sky was every bit as cold and gray as the icy waters of Lake Ontario and the concrete loading docks that surrounded the car now transporting Corporal Holly Asher to her new life in witness protection. Her eyes flickered to the passenger-side mirror as another car came into view on the empty road behind them.

      A tremor of warning brushed her spine.

      “That looks like the same car I saw parked outside the safe house this morning,” Holly said. “I think we’re being followed.”

      Officer Elias Crane, the gray-haired witness protection officer in the driver’s seat beside her, cut a glance to the rearview mirror. He frowned. “It’s fine.”

      No, it really wasn’t. Her gut told her something was wrong—very wrong—and after surviving two tours of duty overseas on a combination of faith and intuition, she wasn’t about to start ignoring either now. Something about the Royal Canadian Mounted Police detective had had Holly on edge ever since Elias had woken her up at the safe house before dawn and given her exactly five minutes to get into the car. She’d done it in four, including an external sweep of the vehicle, which he’d told her wasn’t necessary considering it was unlikely “anyone would go to too much trouble to stop someone from testifying in some government inquiry about a handful of misplaced weapons.”

      That was the moment she’d first felt her jaw set. It had been far more than just a handful of weapons and they hadn’t been misplaced so much as illegally bartered, sold and given to warring factions by one of the most respected generals in the Canadian military. It was an international scandal, one that had the potential to ruin General Alberto “Bertie” Frey’s career. Holly had grown up in a military family and dedicated her life to serving her country. After a decade of exemplary service, she’d agreed to come forward, testify in the upcoming inquiry against her former mentor and explain the best she could exactly how a man as beloved as General Bertie had somehow allowed dozens of Canadian military firearms to end up in the hands of warring desert families in a remote area of the world where the Canadian military was deployed. For that, she’d been treated like a pariah by some of the people she’d served alongside and had her reputation dragged through the mud online. Then had come the final breaking point—three thugs had jumped her one night in downtown Ottawa and tried to intimidate her, later claiming to police that some stranger had paid them to show her just how bad her life could get if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. But they’d clearly underestimated the strength and power of the woman they were trying to scare out of testifying.

      Even then she wouldn’t have delayed deployment on a third tour of duty or gone into witness protection if the RCMP hadn’t insisted and the inquiry hadn’t wanted to risk losing their star witness.

      “I’m telling you it’s the same car.” She opened the sun visor mirror and took a better look, glancing past her own short-cropped black hair and the dark shadows that framed her green eyes. She couldn’t see the driver’s face in the darkness, but something about the sense of alert tension that seemed to radiate through his muscular arms and broad shoulders was anything but forgettable. “Could be a potential hostile.”

      “This is Canada, not Afghanistan.” A chuckle slipped from Elias’s lips, and Holly felt her spine stiffen. He gestured to the rearview mirror. “And that’s just Detective Wilder. He’s got a bit of a burr stuck in his fur about our drive.”

      “Why is he concerned?” she asked. “Has he been assigned to me, as well? Is there something wrong with my new temporary identity?”

      The irritation that flashed in Elias’s eyes told her the answer to the third question at least was no.

      “Look, Corporal, it’s fine,” he said. “Can I call you Hildy?”

      “No.” Because it wasn’t her name and she’d never been one for being called anything other than who or what she was. Her given first name was Hildegard, an old-fashioned family name shared by both her mother and grandmother. Her parents and very closest friends had always called her Holly, in part because she was born on Christmas Day. For everyone else in her life Asher would do. “Either Asher or Corporal is fine.”

      “Well, then, just learn to relax, Corporal, or it’s gonna be a really long drive.”

      But how could she relax when something inside kept telling her something was wrong?

       Help me, Lord. Something’s not right. I can feel it. Help me know what it is and what to do about it.

      A phone began to ring. She reached in vain for the cell that used to be in her pocket before she’d entered witness protection,