Chapter 3 - The Fugitive and the Federal Agent
I had escaped a locked mansion only to find myself standing between a wanted man and an FBI agent.
Rain soaked my hair.
My dress clung to my skin.
And my unborn daughter was kicking hard enough to remind me that none of this was a nightmare.
Noah slowly raised his hands.
"Agent Brooks."
The woman kept her distance.
"Where's your weapon?"
"Don't have one."
"Hands where I can see them."
"They are."
I looked between them.
"You know each other?"
Agent Brooks was in her early forties, with dark eyes and the exhausted expression of someone who had spent too many years listening to lies.
"Emily, my name is Special Agent Claire Brooks. I need you to come with me."
"Why?"
"Because your life is in danger."
I laughed once.
It sounded almost hysterical.
"Everyone keeps telling me that, but nobody will explain why."
She glanced toward the mansion.
"Richard Whitmore has friends in places you wouldn't expect."
Noah lowered his chin.
"Then why are you here alone?"
Claire didn't answer immediately.
I noticed.
So did Noah.
"Emily," he said, "do not get into that vehicle until she tells you who sent her."
Claire's expression hardened.
"You're in no position to make demands."
"No," he replied. "But she is."
I stepped forward.
"Who sent you?"
Claire looked at me.
"Your father."
Everything seemed to go silent.
Even the rain.
"My father is dead."
"I know."
"Then don't say things like that."
Claire slipped a photograph from her jacket.
It showed my father in an office I didn't recognize.
Beside him stood Claire Brooks.
The date in the corner was October 12.
Five days before his death.
"He met with me about financial crimes involving Whitmore Holdings," she said.
"He wanted to provide evidence against Richard."
I looked at Noah.
"Is that true?"
He nodded.
"Your father had discovered the money was being moved through companies he never approved."
Claire continued.
"He was scheduled to testify before a federal grand jury."
I swallowed.
"Then why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because the investigation was compromised."
Noah said nothing.
Claire looked directly at him.
"And the man responsible for protecting your father disappeared."
He flinched.
"That's not what happened."
"Then tell her."
Noah's face went rigid.
"My wife, Sarah, was killed the night I tried to bring the evidence to federal investigators."
Claire's eyes narrowed.
"You've never been cleared."
"I know."
"And you fled."
"Because the person who killed her had a federal badge."
A long silence followed.
Claire's expression revealed nothing.
But I saw the slight movement of her fingers.
She was considering his words.
I took a step toward her.
"Did my father trust you?"
"Yes."
"Then you should understand why I don't trust anyone right now."
Claire slowly lowered her hands.
"Fair enough."
She returned her badge to her pocket.
"Get in the car if you choose. But we need to move before Richard realizes where you came out."
Noah glanced down the road.
"Too late."
A pair of headlights appeared beyond the iron gates.
Then another.
Two dark vehicles rolled toward us.
Claire swore.
"Everybody down."
She opened the rear passenger door.
I hesitated only a second before climbing inside.
Noah slipped in beside me.
Claire jumped behind the wheel.
The SUV lurched forward.
A second later, something cracked against the back window.
Glass splintered.
I screamed.
"Get down!" Noah shouted.
I folded over my stomach as much as I safely could.
Claire accelerated down the service road.
The headlights behind us grew larger.
"Are they shooting at us?" I asked.
"Yes," Claire answered.
I closed my eyes.
I thought of my father.
I thought of the way he'd kissed my forehead the last time I saw him.
And I remembered the tiny blue sweater I'd bought for my daughter two days earlier.
I wasn't going to die before she got to wear it.
"Tell me what to do," I said.
Noah looked surprised.
"What?"
"I'm done being the person everybody has to rescue. Tell me what I can do."
Claire took a sharp turn.
"There's a phone in the center console."
I grabbed it.
"Call the emergency contact listed as Harper. Tell her we're coming in hot."
I pressed the name.
A woman answered immediately.
"Brooks?"
"This is Emily Whitmore. Agent Brooks says we're coming in hot."
A pause.
Then the woman said, "How many tails?"
I looked through the damaged rear window.
"Two cars."
"Are they armed?"
Another crack sounded.
"Very."
"Tell Claire to take Route Nine instead of the interstate."
I repeated the instruction.
Claire turned without hesitation.
The SUV bounced over a pothole.
My body lurched against the seat belt.
Noah put one hand against the headrest in front of me, bracing himself.
For several terrifying minutes, all I could hear was the engine and Claire's instructions.
Then one set of headlights disappeared.
The second vehicle stayed behind us.
Claire slammed the brakes near an industrial intersection.
Our pursuer rushed past.
She twisted the wheel and turned into a loading alley.
We stopped behind an abandoned warehouse.
For the first time, nobody spoke.
Claire checked the mirrors.
No movement.
No headlights.
I realized my hands were shaking.
Noah looked at me.
"How's the baby?"
I pressed my palm against my belly.
"She's moving."
Claire let out a breath.
"Good."
Then her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Something in her face changed.
"Brooks," she answered.
I watched her carefully.
"Yes, sir."
A pause.
"No, we haven't reached the field office."
Another pause.
Her expression hardened.
"Who gave you that information?"
She ended the call without saying goodbye.
Noah leaned forward.
"Who was it?"
Claire stared straight ahead.
"Deputy Director Wallace."
Noah's face darkened.
"He's still there?"
Claire turned toward me.
"Emily, I need you to understand something."
I waited.
"The official file says your father died in a highway accident."
"I know."
"The medical examiner's original findings didn't support that conclusion."
My heart skipped.
"What did they say?"
Claire reached into her bag and handed me a thin folder.
Inside was a copy of a preliminary autopsy report.
I could barely bring myself to read it.
But one line stood out.
Evidence of blunt-force injury occurring before the vehicle collision.
I stared at the paper.
"My father was attacked?"
Claire nodded.
"We believe someone incapacitated him before placing him in the car."
My vision blurred.
"Who?"
She looked toward Noah.
"We've spent three years trying to prove it."
Then Noah spoke.
"Richard didn't drive the car."
I turned.
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw who did."
Claire's expression shifted.
"Noah."
He ignored her.
He looked at me with an unbearable sadness.
"Emily, the man behind the wheel wasn't some hired killer."
I gripped the folder.
"Then who was it?"
Noah swallowed.
May you like
"It was Daniel."
And for the first time since I met him, the man who had rescued me from that mansion looked like he was afraid of my answer.
