the terrorists, we need to find the girl.”
Not necessarily, but he wasn’t going to argue with his boss. “We can’t force her to return to us, sir,” he pointed out.
“Who says we’re going to force her?” Caine glanced at the flashing light, his face pinched with disapproval. “I just want to know who this soldier is. If he looks legit, maybe I’ll forget that he destroyed federally owned property.”
“He didn’t bomb the safe house,” Jackson insisted, thoroughly disillusioned. He had assumed when applying to the FBI that they operated with the integrity as the Marine Corp. Evidently not.
“Prove it,” Caine shot back.
Jackson sighed. McClellan’s elite soldier wouldn’t like the FBI hounding him. Nor would he appreciate being framed for something he hadn’t done. Having insight into the man’s lethal skills, Jackson liked even less the idea of pissing him off.
**
Eryn couldn’t sleep. She lay on a lumpy mattress, staring at grotesque shadows creeping across the attic’s sloped ceilings while replaying the day’s events in disbelief.
If she hadn’t heeded her instincts and fled the safe house, she could be dead right now. They used me as bait! The realization filled her with fury. Had Jackson known? How could he have been so thoughtful and considerate and still have left her there to fend for herself?
She wondered if her entire life would be like this, running from place to place in fear.
Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could envisioned was the terror Itzak must have felt when the taxi driver caught up to him. Recalling his parting words to her, he must have known the man would come after him with a knife. And now, because of her, her student was dead, buried in a Muslim cemetery in the heart of the city. She’d wanted desperately to attend his funeral, but, of course, the FBI agents had convinced her it wasn’t safe.
Eryn kicked off the covers. Heat from the woodstove was rising through the cracks in the floorboards, turning the attic into an oven. Damn Isaac Calhoun for dumping her pills into the toilet! She’d be sleeping like a baby if he hadn’t.
Straining her ears, she listened for him, but all she could hear was Winston snoring next to her bed and firewood crackling in the woodstove downstairs. A creaking sound outside her window had her sitting up abruptly.
What was that? Wind howled and the panes of the window rattled. The creaking came again. Her overwrought imagination spawned visions of terrorists skulking around the cabin, dousing it in lighter fluid. All it would take to end her life would be the strike of a match.
Frightened by the direction of her thoughts, she leapt from the bed and squirmed into her jeans. Another gust of wind sent her flying down the stairs in fight or flight mode. As much as she resented Ike for taking away her only comfort, he was her protector.
But he wasn’t there. A knock at his bedroom door resulted in silence. Her clammy skin sprouted goose bumps in the cooler air. “Ike?” When he didn’t answer, she slowly turned the doorknob. His bed, illumined by moonlight, lay empty and still neatly made.
She whirled to face the empty cabin. Fear skated up her bare arms. Where was he? Crossing to the window, she went to peek outside. In that same instant, a silhouette loomed against the glass, snuffing out the moon glow.
With a muffled scream, Eryn jumped back.
The boards on the porch creaked. Then the door groaned open, admitting a breath of cold air. Eryn ducked behind the recliner, not altogether certain who she was hiding from. Winston came barreling down the stairs to defend her, and Ike’s “Easy boy,” had her melting into a boneless puddle on the floor. It was just Ike.
The light came on. A pair of running shoes walked into her line of sight. She craned her neck to find him frowning down at her.
“What’s wrong?”
Not necessarily, but he wasn’t going to argue with his boss. “We can’t force her to return to us, sir,” he pointed out.
“Who says we’re going to force her?” Caine glanced at the flashing light, his face pinched with disapproval. “I just want to know who this soldier is. If he looks legit, maybe I’ll forget that he destroyed federally owned property.”
“He didn’t bomb the safe house,” Jackson insisted, thoroughly disillusioned. He had assumed when applying to the FBI that they operated with the integrity as the Marine Corp. Evidently not.
“Prove it,” Caine shot back.
Jackson sighed. McClellan’s elite soldier wouldn’t like the FBI hounding him. Nor would he appreciate being framed for something he hadn’t done. Having insight into the man’s lethal skills, Jackson liked even less the idea of pissing him off.
**
Eryn couldn’t sleep. She lay on a lumpy mattress, staring at grotesque shadows creeping across the attic’s sloped ceilings while replaying the day’s events in disbelief.
If she hadn’t heeded her instincts and fled the safe house, she could be dead right now. They used me as bait! The realization filled her with fury. Had Jackson known? How could he have been so thoughtful and considerate and still have left her there to fend for herself?
She wondered if her entire life would be like this, running from place to place in fear.
Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could envisioned was the terror Itzak must have felt when the taxi driver caught up to him. Recalling his parting words to her, he must have known the man would come after him with a knife. And now, because of her, her student was dead, buried in a Muslim cemetery in the heart of the city. She’d wanted desperately to attend his funeral, but, of course, the FBI agents had convinced her it wasn’t safe.
Eryn kicked off the covers. Heat from the woodstove was rising through the cracks in the floorboards, turning the attic into an oven. Damn Isaac Calhoun for dumping her pills into the toilet! She’d be sleeping like a baby if he hadn’t.
Straining her ears, she listened for him, but all she could hear was Winston snoring next to her bed and firewood crackling in the woodstove downstairs. A creaking sound outside her window had her sitting up abruptly.
What was that? Wind howled and the panes of the window rattled. The creaking came again. Her overwrought imagination spawned visions of terrorists skulking around the cabin, dousing it in lighter fluid. All it would take to end her life would be the strike of a match.
Frightened by the direction of her thoughts, she leapt from the bed and squirmed into her jeans. Another gust of wind sent her flying down the stairs in fight or flight mode. As much as she resented Ike for taking away her only comfort, he was her protector.
But he wasn’t there. A knock at his bedroom door resulted in silence. Her clammy skin sprouted goose bumps in the cooler air. “Ike?” When he didn’t answer, she slowly turned the doorknob. His bed, illumined by moonlight, lay empty and still neatly made.
She whirled to face the empty cabin. Fear skated up her bare arms. Where was he? Crossing to the window, she went to peek outside. In that same instant, a silhouette loomed against the glass, snuffing out the moon glow.
With a muffled scream, Eryn jumped back.
The boards on the porch creaked. Then the door groaned open, admitting a breath of cold air. Eryn ducked behind the recliner, not altogether certain who she was hiding from. Winston came barreling down the stairs to defend her, and Ike’s “Easy boy,” had her melting into a boneless puddle on the floor. It was just Ike.
The light came on. A pair of running shoes walked into her line of sight. She craned her neck to find him frowning down at her.
“What’s wrong?”
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