Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(75)

She said a silent prayer of gratitude to the Holy Mother, who had put true angels in her life when she needed them the most. Still smiling and humming a quiet tune, she stepped into the darkened hallway, ready to make the forty-minute drive to her home in the village of El Salvador. She would stop and—

A hand slapped over her mouth, and a man pulled her backward, stealing her breath and sanity. Ay Dios mio! Her worst fear. A detainee had escaped, and she was a hostage.

“Nice to see you again, Alana.”

For a moment, she couldn’t even process the English words, let alone the voice. But then it hit her with vicious clarity.

Roger Drummand.

“Aren’t you happy to see your old boss?”

Fear and shock vibrated through her as she tried to hold perfectly still and think. Should she try to kick him? Scream? Get to an alarm?

But she just grew weaker as he dragged her back toward her office.

She didn’t wonder how he got in; the former CIA supervisor still had top clearances at the prison, and he’d been there now and again in the past few years. But never when no one else was around.

“Let’s get back to your desk,” he said. “And I don’t think you want to make any noise or even think about that alarm, because I have your kids.”

She froze again. What did he want? “Qué quieres?”

“No Spanish, Alana. Remember how much I hate it.” He jabbed her back with something hard and cold. Of course he had a gun. “Get the keys and open the office.”

She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. Her hands were exactly the opposite, vibrating with terror as she dug in her bag for the office keys. When she pulled them out, he yanked them away with his free hand, keeping the gun firmly in the middle of her back.

“Where are my children? My mother?” she managed to ask.

“Detained. By the government.”

She let out a soft moan. Those were the last words she’d heard about her husband until she’d gotten word he had died in service of his country. “Why?”

“To get you to cooperate.” He got the door unlocked and shoved her inside. “Remember your old friend, Malcolm Harris? Did you know he is in Cuba?”

Mal. Why was he here? What did he want?

“He’s dragging around a computer hacker, which tells me he wants something, and you can get to it before he does.” He added some pressure. “Something I know you can do.”

For a moment, she couldn’t think, in any language, but then clarity came. The account…would be empty. “No, se?or. I can’t do that.”

He pushed her into the chair and banged the back of the pistol against her shoulder. “Don’t f*cking lie to me, Alana. You know exactly where that money is, and I’ve done you a big favor by staying away.”

He’d done himself a favor, more like. He’d kept his distance from the crime scene and she’d counted on him never coming back.

“But now I need some cash,” he continued. “So now it’s time to move it, safely and silently, to where it belonged in the first place: my account.”

She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. “You stole the money, Mr. Drummand. Or did you forget that you made it look like I did it with my husband? My husband…who was taken away and killed not long after.”

“It’s good that you know the consequences of bad behavior in this country.”

Except Guantanamo Bay was not Cuba. It was the United States of America, and Roger Drummand was a dirty, deadly thief who had the power to ruin her life and harm her children.

He gave her a hard push. “Turn your computer on and get ready to transfer the funds. I have a brand new account ready to take them.”

She’d never thought he’d take this chance. Never. Once Mal had gone to prison for the crime Roger Drummand had committed and tried to blame on Alana, she’d hoped to be done with this man.

“Hurry!” he ordered.

Ice crystallized in her veins. She couldn’t transfer funds that weren’t there. And what would he do to her children and her mother when he found out what she had done with that money?

Buying time, she did as she was told, her fingers shaking over the keyboard.


“You know the bank,” he said when the screen lit up. “And you have the right fingerprint. Do it.”

She logged into the bank site. Waited. Heard him breathing. Knew what was about to happen.

“Mr. Drummand…”

The screen flashed for the request of a fingerprint and password. If she did that, he’d know she’d already moved the money. And then he’d kill her…

“There. Fingerprint.” He gave her arm a shove. “Now.”

She did, pressing her index finger on the scanner, getting the immediate prompt for the password. “Now the password. Now!”

Dear Holy Mother, help me. She slowly typed in the ten digits and letters that were burned in her brain, closing her eyes when the screen flashed to show the amount available.

“Ten dollars?” he shouted in her ear. “Where the f*ck is the rest of it?” He smacked her head with the gun, sending shock waves ringing through her.

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t tell him.

But he leaned close to the screen and used his free hand to click to the last transaction. “Money transferred to another account? Whose? Where is that money, bitch? And I know it was you because you and I are the only people who knew where it was. You had no right to take my money!”