She held on to the brass railing ringing the base of the circular gazebo, heart thudding. She had to run, she had to…
“Caroline!” Jack shouted. “Come to me!” Oh God. Caroline closed her eyes at the sound of his voice. So deep, so reassuring. She huddled more deeply into the snow. Her cheeks were wet and cold with melted snow and tears.
“Ms. Lake!” Special Agent Butler sounded closer. The voice was muffled, but by snow and not distance. “Remember what I said about Deaver! He’s a killer. He’ll use you as a hostage to get away. Run toward me, and I’ll cover you.”
“Jesus, Caroline!” Jack’s deep voice cracked. “Don’t believe him! He’s Vince Deaver. He’ll kill you the way you squash a bug, and with just as much remorse. I saw him kill women and children in Africa. Stay put! I’m coming toward you.”
“No!” she screamed, standing up, ready to run if he came for her. The wind was whipping ice particles in her eyes, and she had to swipe at them to be able to see for even a moment. Her hands were so cold they were clumsy as they batted at her eyes. “Don’t come near me.” She sobbed the words out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t come, Jack. Stay where you are.”
Silence. The only sound was the wind in the trees, muffled by the snow and her own thundering heart.
Fuck!
Jack didn’t dare go after Caroline. He could barely see her, behind a big round bandstand, hunkered down. But he didn’t have to see her face to know that she was crying, the tears had been in her voice.
She was scared and disoriented, her head filled with Deaver’s lies. None of it made any difference, what was important now was keeping her away from Deaver. If he was here, it was to use Caroline as bait for the diamonds.
Jack had no idea how Deaver had escaped from the UN soldiers and tracked Caroline down, or known enough about her to know that he’d travel to her, but here he was. Ready, willing and able to hurt Caroline or—God! — kill her.
He wouldn’t kill her right away, he was too smart for that. He’d put a bullet through her kneecap or through an elbow, make her suffer.
If Jack had thought it through, he’d never have taken the fucking diamonds. He didn’t want them. The diamonds weren’t worth one hair on Caroline’s head. If he could, he’d go straight to the bank, open the safe-deposit box and hurl them at Deaver’s head. He couldn’t though. If he didn’t play this right, Caroline would get hurt. Maybe killed.
Jack grew cold and detached in combat. His heart rate actually slowed during firefights. He could strategize with bullets flying overhead. Not now, though. Right now he was sweaty and panicked and terrorized. Caroline was forty feet away from him and just might flee into the hands of a stone killer.
How could he think? How could he plan, make the right moves, when his head was filled with horrific visions of Caroline shot, her lifeblood seeping away into the snow? Screaming in pain with a bullet in her gut.
Jack had seen Deaver take careful aim and blow a woman’s arm off at the shoulder. If he closed his eyes, he could see that on the inside of his lids, only it was Caroline in the line of fire, and it drove him crazy. His heart beat high and wild in his chest, and his weapon slipped in his fist. His hands were sweating. He was sweating all over.
What could he do? If he ran toward Caroline, she would bolt, straight into Deaver. If he didn’t make a move, Deaver would. Either way he was fucked.
“Ms. Lake!” Deaver called. “Run now, before it’s too late! I’ve got agents coming, we’ll keep you safe. We’ve got to get you back to your shop. Make a run for it, and I’ll cover you!”
Deaver’s voice was stronger. He was edging closer to Caroline. Soon, he’d be able to take a bead on her even if she didn’t bolt.
“Don’t believe him, honey.” Jack kept his voice low, hoping it wasn’t carrying to Deaver. “He’s lying.”
“How—how can he be lying?” Caroline’s voice quavered. “He’s an FBI agent.”
“No, he’s not.” In two long strides, Jack came several feet closer to Caroline, finding cover behind another big oak. “He’s not an FBI agent. He’s a war criminal. He’s responsible for a—”
“Massacre in an African village. Stealing diamonds. I know.” Caroline was keeping her voice low. “He told me. Only he said it was you. That you were a war criminal with a fortune in stolen diamonds. And he showed me a photograph of you, Jack. You said you came from Afghanistan, but the snapshot showed you in Africa. The time stamp said it was taken on the twenty-first of December. And Jenna Johnson said that you deposited eight million dollars in a bank account. How can I believe you?”
Oh, Jesus.
He didn’t have time to explain, convince. Deaver was going to pounce any minute. Jack would gladly take a bullet for her, but she wouldn’t let him get close enough.
The sweat was pouring down his back, falling into his eyes. He felt sick with fear.
He could see the lampposts along the street—the snowstorm was easing up slightly. Deaver was out there, moving from cover to cover, and inside a few minutes, he’d reach Caroline. Deaver didn’t need for her to bolt. All he had to do was sneak up behind her, snake an arm around her neck, and call for Jack to put down his weapon.
Jack would do it, too. Even knowing that certain death would follow, he’d do it to save Caroline. Only he wouldn’t save her. She’d be next.
Jack swallowed the surge of bile in his throat, the taste of defeat.
There! Something flitted between the trees, a ghost of movement. Deaver. Coming closer.
Caroline couldn’t stay there, she’d be dead inside of five minutes. And Deaver had filled her head with so many lies, she wouldn’t run to him.
She had to get away, now!
Jack dug into his jeans pocket and tossed a mass of metal toward Caroline. Even in the dusk and in the snow, he had an excellent aim. It fell at her feet, sinking instantly into the snow.
She bent and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. He could see her clearly now. She raised her eyes and saw him. His heart clenched at the expression on her face—sorrow and fear and grief.
“Caroline,” he said urgently. “Those are the keys to the Explorer. It’s parked on Harrison. Get in and drive, just as fast as you can. Head for Seattle or Spokane. There’s a couple of thousand dollars in the glove compartment, use that. Just get yourself away from here. If something—if something happens to me, get in contact with Philip Napier. He’s an estate lawyer on Hewitt. I’ve left my will with him. You’ll inherit everything I own. Have him wire you the money and disappear. Don’t ever come back here. Deaver will kill you if you do.”
She stared into his eyes. “Where did the money come from?” she whispered.
Another glimpse of a shape, barely visible, taking refuge behind the concrete walls of the public toilets before Jack could aim. He was moving toward the bandstand. Jack could see the barrel of Deaver’s gun jutting out from the right-hand corner of the wall. Caroline was on the other side of the bandstand. He’d figure it out in a moment and rush her. She had only minutes left.
“Listen carefully, sweetheart. The money didn’t come from the diamonds, I swear. I sold my father’s company and my house. Use it and stay far away from here. Promise me you’ll go. I need to know you’re safe.”
“You had photographs of me.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “You know Greenbriars inside out. Who are you?”
He had to get her away, now. Only the truth would work.
“Ben.”
“What?”
“I’m Ben, sweetheart. Do you remember the boy in the homeless shelter? Twelve years ago? You brought me food and books.”