Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(82)

While he waited, he leaned out to check outside, scanning what he could see of the property for any movement. “How old was he when he died?”

For a long moment, she didn’t answer, and Mal stood straight, cocking his ear toward her bedroom door, waiting for the answer. “Alana?”

“Not yet two,” she finally said.

“What kind of illness did he have?”

Again, he waited a good thirty seconds for the answer. Then he heard a click. A familiar click. A click that sounded like…

The sound of a safety being thumbed. What the hell?

He bolted toward her door, but something caught his eye outside. A movement, someone walking. Chessie? Of course, she’d come to check on him, but if Alana had a—

“You’re coming with me to Gitmo.”

He whipped around to stare at a SIG P229, a CIA-issued weapon he’d seen all over the prison.

“I need you to come with me,” she said again, her hand shaking ever so slightly.

Mal stayed very still, thinking through his options. She didn’t seem to know Chessie was outside, but that didn’t help him if she came bursting in here and Alana shot her.

He could jump her and get the gun, but she seemed nervous enough to shoot. He had to relax her. Talk her down.

“Not to sound like a cliché or anything, but after all I’ve done for you, Alana? This isn’t a very nice thank-you.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m not very nice.”

“Then you’ve changed.” Maybe Drummand had beat him here, after all. “What happened in the past five years?” Or five hours?

“I need you to do something for me.”

“I think I’ve proven I have a difficult time saying no when you’re in a bind.”

“Go with me to Gitmo.” She nodded to the door. “You can hide in the back of the van, and I’ll get you in. No one will stop me.”

Hide in the detainee hot box? Hell no. He’d shoved enough terrorists in that space to know it was airless and small and not happening tonight.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re doing this.”

“For my kids,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

He scowled at her, shaking his head. “What the hell is going on, Alana?”

“You have to come with me to Guantanamo, Mal. It’s the only way I’ll ever see them again. Please come with me.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because Roger Drummand is going to kill my kids if you don’t help me move the five hundred thousand dollars that’s in an account that only you can access back into his.”

Nothing about that made sense. “That I can access?”

“The money isn’t lost, Mal. I was waiting until you got out of prison to tell you where it was and how to get it. Remember they installed that biometric scanner at the prison? I had your fingerprint on file and used it. No one can ever get that money but you. Especially Drummand. He can never get it back into his account.”

“Back into his?” But as soon as he asked the question, the answer was obvious. “He stole the money.”

She sighed, visibly pained. “He did and made it look like I did it to save his ass. And you saved mine.”

“And by default, his.” He practically choked the words as rage rocked his whole body. “Why didn’t you tell me, Alana? I didn’t go to prison for him, damn it.”

“No, but I would have gone if you hadn’t.” She blinked back tears in her dark eyes.

“And you put the money into an account in my name?”

“He didn’t want to touch it because he knew there’d be an investigation, so when you helped me, I decided to move it. I thought, well, they think you stole it anyway, so if they ever found the money, it would not make any difference. And if they didn’t, then you could do what you want with it. Return it, if I know you. Or use it to build a new life.” Her eyes shuttered in agony and guilt. “I owe you so much.”

But not half a million dollars that belonged to the US government.

“He knows about the account now,” Alana said. “And he wants the money, which is why he wanted me to get you here.”

“Sorry. I’m not going to help either one of you.”


She lifted the gun and aimed it right at his heart. “You know I’ll do anything for my kids.”

“Alana, give me the gun.”

She stared him down. “Do as I ask.”

“Give me the gun.”

She took one slow breath, her nostrils quivering, and lifted the pistol higher. Mal lunged just as the shot went off.

* * *

Chessie jerked up at the sound of a gunshot, pushing herself up from the ground with Mal’s name on her lips.

“He’s too much trouble.” A man grabbed her from behind, wrenching her hair and snapping her whole body into his chest. “But you’ll do.”

In the house, she could hear a woman screaming. Someone had been shot. Mal!

Chessie’s whimper turned into a holler for help, but the hard stab of a pistol in her side silenced her as the man dragged her away from the field.

She tried to look over her shoulder to the house, but he had her twisted in the other direction, her feet stumbling to keep up with him.