Her Christmas Hero. Elle James
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titian hair, and in its place, she’d dyed it a nondescript brown that stopped at her chin. She had to blend in.
“I understand,” he said, his voice gruff. “Better than you know.”
Before Laurel could ponder his statement, he picked up the pace. “My house is ten minutes away. Across Main and around a corner two blocks.”
With each step they took, the blinking lights and garlands, then the tinsel, came into full effect. He paused and shifted them behind a tree, studying the street.
Molly peered around him, her small mouth forming a stunned O. “Aunt Laurel, lookie. It’s Christmas here.” The little girl swallowed and bowed her head until it rested on Laurel’s shoulder. “Our Christmas is far away.”
Laurel patted her niece’s back. “Christmas will follow us, Molly Magoo. It might be different this year, but it will still happen.”
Molly looked at her, then at the decorations lining the town, her gaze hopeful. “Will Mommy and Daddy come back by then?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” Laurel whispered. She didn’t know what to say. Even though Molly had seen the explosion, she still hadn’t processed the reality that her mother, father, brother and sister were never coming back.
She gritted her teeth. As a grown woman, she didn’t know how long it would take her to accept her family’s death. That she was alone in the world. Except for Molly.
“We need to move fast.” Garrett held out his arm. Main Street through Trouble wasn’t much. Two lanes, a single stoplight. “Go.” They were halfway to the other side when an engine roared to life. Tires squealed; the vehicle thundered directly at them.
Garrett pushed them behind a cinder-block wall, dumped the tote, then rolled to the ground, leaving himself vulnerable.
A spray of gunfire ratcheted above Laurel’s head as she hit the ground. Molly cried out. Laurel covered the little girl’s trembling body and pulled her weapon. She lifted her head, scooting forward. To get a clean shot, she’d have to leave Molly. Bullets thwacked; concrete chips rained down. Laurel tucked Molly closer, gripping the butt of her gun.
A series of shots roared from behind the wall.
Skidding tires took off.
At the sound, Laurel eased forward, weapon raised. She half expected the worst, but Garrett lay on the ground, still alive, his gun aimed at the retreating SUV. He squeezed off two more rounds, then let out a low curse.
She couldn’t catch her breath. They’d found her.
“What’s going on out there?” An old man’s voice called out, and the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun seared through the dark.
“I’m handling it, Mr. McCreary,” Garrett called out. “It’s Sheriff Galloway. Get back inside.”
A door slammed.
Garrett held his weapon at the ready for several more seconds, then picked up his phone. “Shots fired just off Oak and First, Keller,” he said to his deputy. “Activate the emergency system and order everyone to stay inside. I’ll get back to you when it’s clear.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket and ran to Laurel. “Everybody safe?”
Molly sobbed in Laurel’s arms. She clutched the girl tighter. Laurel didn’t know how much more her niece could take.
“Come on.” Tension lining his face, he scooped up Molly. His boots thudded on the ground; Laurel carried their belongings and her footsteps pounded closely behind. He led them down an alley to the rear of a row of houses. Then, when he reached the back of one house, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “We’ve got to get out of sight. Plus, I have supplies to gather. Then we need a safe place to hole up.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I brought this to you.”
He gave a curt nod. “Who knew you were coming to Texas?”
“No—no one.”
“Who told you about me? Your father?” Garrett said.
“My...my sister.”
“Ivy?” Garrett’s brow furrowed. “She worked for the agency, but we never tackled an op together.”
Laurel bit her lip. “My sister said your name with her dying breath. She said to tell you that you were right.”
* * *
THE SUV THUNDERED down the highway and out of Trouble. Mike Strickland slammed his foot on the accelerator and veered onto an old dirt road leading into the hellish West Texas desert. When he finally brought the vehicle to a halt, he slammed it into Park and pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Son of a bitch. Who was that guy?”
“The law,” his partner, Don Krauss, said, his tone dry. “You see the badge?”
Krauss could pass for everyman. He was great to have on the job because he excelled at blending into the background. His medium brown hair, medium eyes, medium height and nothing-special face got lost in a crowd.
Strickland had a tougher time. A scar from his marine stint and his short hair pegged him as ex-military. He could live with that. He tended to work the less subtle jobs anyway. But Krauss came in handy for gathering intel.
“No sheriff has reflexes like that,” Strickland said. “She should be dead. They both should be.”
“The girl avoided us for four days, and she’s just an analyst, even if she does work for the CIA. She’s smart. Switched vehicles twice and never turned on her cell phone.” Krauss tapped the high-tech portable triangulation unit.
All this equipment and a girl in a beat-up Chevy had driven over halfway across the country and avoided them. “She got lucky.” Strickland frowned.
Krauss let out a snort. “No, we got lucky when she used her ATM for cash. The only stupid move she made, but she cleaned out her account. We won’t be lucky again. And now she’s got help.” He hitched his foot on the dash. “If Ivy talked—”
“I know, I know.” Strickland scratched his palm in a nervous movement. In four days the skin had peeled, leaving it red, angry and telling. Not much made him nervous, but his boss... He forced his hand still and gripped the steering wheel, clenching and unclenching his fists against the vinyl. “We can fix this. Forensics will be sifting through what’s left of that car for weeks. I made sure it burned hot, and I’ve got friends in the local coroner’s office. If they stall long enough for us to provide two more burned bodies, no one will ever know. Everyone will believe the woman and girl died that night along with the rest of her family.”
“You blew her head off,” Krauss said. “Cops had to notice.”
“It hasn’t been on the news, has it?” Strickland said with a small smile.
Krauss shook his head. “I figured they were holding back details as part of the investigation.”
“Hell, no. First guy there threw her into the fire. Everyone else is keeping mum. They think it’s national security.”
“Lots of loose ends, Strickland.”
“I got enough on my contacts’ extracurricular activities. They won’t be talking anytime soon. They know the rules.” Strickland slid a glance at his partner. “You read the paper? Remember last year, that dead medical investigator? I had no choice. He was a loose end. Like the boss says, loose ends make for bad business.”
Krauss tugged a toothpick from his pocket. “Guess the boss was right in choosing you for this one, because we have two very big loose ends.” He turned in the seat, his normally sardonic expression solemn. “You ever wonder how we ended up working for that psycho? ’Cause I’m starting to regret every job we do.”
“For the greater good—” Strickland started, his entire back tensing. He cricked