The Hunted

80

“Put me down!” Lauren screamed through the man’s hand. She was writhing, swinging her arms wildly. She pulled out of her jacket and nearly broke free, but he grabbed her and flung her over his right shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was raining again, and she could feel the wet pinpricks of drops pelting her bareback.

The man carried her toward an army transport vehicle parked ten feet ahead of the ambulance. The man reached out and opened the truck’s back door. It was completely black inside, what the night sky would look like without the stars and the moon and the lights from surrounding cities.

Lauren was pushed inside, the door was slammed shut — and locked.

She banged on it with the open palm of her right hand, then cursed under her breath. But she suddenly realized she was not alone. Before she could speak, a bare bulb lit the interior.

Douglas Knox was sitting on a bench, partially blocking her view of the man who was beside him. But it didn’t matter. Lauren knew who it was.

She lunged forward into Michael’s arms and he squeezed her in an embrace she didn’t want him to release.

“Lauren,” he whispered in her ear, “I missed you so much.”

“Michael,” she said, holding him tightly.

“I’m very sorry to have put you through so much grief, Dr. Chambers,” Knox said. “It was necessary, to make it believable.”

“Believable—”

“Michael was injured in that car accident I told you about earlier this evening. He was examined and airlifted by special medevac personnel to the base hospital, where he was treated by a covert trauma team.”

“You’re making it sound worse than it is,” Michael said. “I’m fine, just a little bruised—”

“He’s got a fractured left forearm and, more importantly, a mild concussion,” Knox said. “Which, in his current state, needs to be closely monitored.”

Michael took Lauren’s hand and they sat down together on the wooden bench that ran the length of the covered cargo vehicle. The truck began to move, and they all grabbed for something to hold on to.

She reached over to stroke Michael’s hair and felt the lump on the side of his head, saw the bruises on his neck from Scarponi’s fingers. “They told me you were dead.”

“Again,” Knox said, “please accept my apologies for everything we’ve put you through. If it’s any consolation, I just received word that Anthony Scarponi was fatally wounded in a confrontation with some of my men.”

Lauren closed her eyes and sighed. “Thank God.” She rested her head against Michael’s shoulder and took his hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“These bumps and bruises… they’re nothing. The break will heal in a couple of months. And my memory is a whole lot better than it was even a week ago. Every day I remember more. That new knock on the head didn’t screw things up too badly.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m still trying to get over the shock of learning I wasn’t really an FBI agent. Another identity crisis to deal with.”

She smiled. “That much I can help you with.”

“Most important thing is that I have you back. I was told the real Harper Payne took good care of you.”

Lauren lowered her gaze. “I grew very close to him. But it’s all so infuriating. It was all an act, everything he told me was a lie.”

“Agent Payne thinks the world of you,” Knox said. “From what he told me, you turned out to be more than he’d bargained for. He may have filled a void for you, but you filled a void for him as well. When he went into witness protection, he left behind his wife and four-year-old daughter. Leaving them was the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.”

“The child he lost…” she mumbled.

“What?” Michael asked.

Lauren turned to Knox. “We kind of left things in a bad way. I didn’t know… can I see him, talk to him for a moment?”

Knox glanced at Michael. “I’m afraid you’ll never cross paths with Harper Payne again. He’s going back underground. But thanks to you, he’ll be able to see his daughter again, even if it’s only on a very limited basis. His wife’s remarried, but that’s something he’ll have to come to terms with. At least he’ll be able to have contact with the ones he loves.”

Lauren stared off at the dark wall behind Knox.

“You don’t have to worry about him,” Knox said. “As you’ve seen, he’s a survivor. He’ll deal with it.” The director picked up a leather attaché from the floor and popped open the latches. “On a happier note, you and Michael have each other. I’ve arranged for you two to be sequestered together.”

“Sequestered?” Lauren asked.

Knox looked from Michael to Lauren. “Benjamin Fox, meet Amy Fox. The two of you are entering witness protection.”

“But if Scarponi’s men think Harper Payne’s dead, then Nick — I mean Harper — and Michael are safe.”

Michael shook his head. “Scarponi had a very loyal, extensive network. We don’t know what kind of state it’s in, but it looks like he moved quickly to reassemble it. If that’s the case, it’s still very dangerous.”

“And they think you’re Payne,” Lauren said.

Michael nodded. “Exactly.”

“We prefer to be somewhat conservative,” Knox said. “We’re not taking any chances.” He reached into his attaché and removed a couple of large envelopes. “Your new lives are in here. Passports, driver’s licenses, bank accounts, cash, credit cards, birth certificates, the whole nine yards. You’ve got jobs in the town of Bellevue, Washington. Michael will be an agent with the Bureau’s resident agency there. After spending all that effort on his training, we may as well get some return on our investment,” Knox said wryly.

“And you’re a family mediation specialist,” Michael said.

“Well, I wanted a new start in life. Guess we’re both getting one.”

“Ben Fox has that one-syllable ring to it,” Michael said, “don’t you think? Bond. James Bond. Fox. Ben Fox.”

Knox smiled. “I had something else in mind. I thought Fox was a name worthy of both of you.”

They looked at Knox.

“How so?” Lauren asked.

“A fox uses its cunning and ability to fight off its predators out in the wild. Both of you have those qualities.”

Lauren grinned. “As a family mediation specialist, they’ll come in handy.”

Just then, the truck pulled over to the side of the road and came to an abrupt stop.

“So that’s it?” Lauren asked. “New life, new identities?”

Knox nodded. “That’s the way it’s done. The U.S. marshal’s been doing it for fifty years. They’ve got their shit together. One of our people there arranged all of this for you. I didn’t run it through the usual channels. These identities won’t show up anywhere in the marshal’s database. Hector DeSantos is in charge of your case. You have a problem, speak only to him. He’s one of the best. His info’s in there, along with your personal bios. Read them, memorize them, then burn them.”

“But our house, our belongings,” Lauren said. “My clothes, my car, photos… Tucker—”

“Gone. Friends, family, all gone. You can never have any further contact with anyone or it could severely endanger your lives. No letters, no phone calls. Even e-mails are risky. I’ll find a way of getting your dog to you, but even that’s a risk.”

Lauren shared a brief look of uncertainty with Michael.

The director rose and extended a hand. “Thank you, Agent Fox, for everything.” Knox moved over to Lauren, whose head was bowed, staring off at the ground. “Best of luck to you, Amy. I hope this is the start of good things for both of you.”

With that, Knox turned and left through the door in the rear of the truck. A second later, the army vehicle pulled back onto the road. Ben reached into the manila envelope and pulled out a black wallet. He let it fall open, exposing his FBI credentials.

Amy reached out to him. Instead of taking her hand, he pulled her close. As he held her, feeling her warmth, her strength, he realized that even if he did not remember one more detail or event, it would not matter. He ran his fingers through her tousled hair as the swaying bulb played an odd pattern of dim light and shadow across the interior of the truck.

Lying there in his arms, her body finally began to relax. This is where she wanted to be. She felt safe, strangely complete. The last time she remembered feeling that way was when she’d lain in her daddy’s lap as a young child. She closed her eyes for a moment and was instantly back in time, resting with her father in their hammock, the wind blowing gently through her hair, not a care in the world.

She reached into her blouse and pulled out her chain. The gold key was dangling there, swaying with the hypnotic rocking of the truck.

“I’ve still got the two most important things that matter to me. You, and a keepsake from my father.”

“After all you’ve been through,” Ben said, “your father would’ve been very proud of you.”

“Yes,” she said as she fingered the key, “I bet he would’ve been.”