She blinked her surprise. “You realize you just confessed a federal crime to a federal agent.”
“Told you I’d never lie to you,” he countered, and the tension that had momentarily tightened her shoulders drained away.
She might be the world’s biggest fool—when it came to Sergeant Rollins, she probably was—but she believed him.
“You said he’s a white hat hacker.” She squinted at what appeared to be a break in the trees ahead. “Which means he only hacks to hurt the bad guys. Is this a job for him or simply a hobby?”
Britt huffed a laugh. “With Ozzie, the line is pretty blurred.”
She opened her mouth to question him further but snapped it closed when the trees parted and the truck’s headlights shone across the front face of a cozy cottage—red door, festive window boxes, climbing ivy that was turning colors for the seasons. Golden light glimmered through the front windows. A curl of smoke drifted from the stone chimney. And rain barrels sat at the corners, ostensibly to catch the runoff from the moss-covered roof.
It looked like one of those destination Airbnbs. The kind of place that appealed to couples who wanted the seclusion and the ambiance of the deep woods without having to pitch a tent.
“We’re here,” he announced, doing something under the steering column that had the old farm truck’s engine cutting off. “And none too soon. We were down to an eighth of a tank.”
She didn’t bother answering. She was too busy gaping out the windscreen and trying to come to terms with the quaint little setting.
She wasn’t sure what she expected when Britt offered to take her to meet his brother. Maybe something along the lines of a dilapidated warehouse on the waterfront or some smoky room in the back of an illegal gambling hall. But this was…charming.Cozyeven. Definitely not what she’d call a clandestine destination for a federal fugitive and accused murderer.
Her hands automatically returned to the weapons in her pockets when the front door swung wide. But it was only Hewitt Birch who stood in the bright glow of the headlights.
“It’s me,” Britt called after he opened the driver’s side door. The hinges made an unholy complaint at the movement. “And I brought company.”
She figured that was her signal to exit the vehicle.
She pushed out of the truck just as the timer on the headlights shut off. Now, the little cottage was lit only from within. She tensed when Knox Rollins took up a position next to Hew. Of course, tension was replaced by a sharp sense of interest when the mystery woman she’d seen on the CCTV footage joined the duo on the little porch.
“Agent O’Toole,” Britt said as he gestured to her and then toward the gathered group. “You know Hew. But let me introduce you to my brother, Knox, and his lovely traveling companion, Sabrina Greenlee.”
Recognition sparked at the name. “Greenlee?” She arched a brow at Britt.
“As in Cooper Greenlee’s sister,” he confirmed her suspicion.
“Okay.” She dragged in a deep breath. “You have my attention, Sergeant Rollins.”
17
Old Mackinac Point Lighthouse, Mackinaw City
JD Maddox watched his portly partner pace the length of the waterfront lawn next to the old lighthouse and waited for him to finish his phone call.
They’d been on their way to rendezvous with U.S. and Canadian authorities in Sault Ste. Marie when the tactical team members they’d left behind at the old farmhouse contacted them with the news that Agent O’Toole and the ancient, rusting farm truck that had been parked inside the decrepit old barn had gone missing.
The tactical guys hadn’t been able to say if she’d been the one to steal the truck or if someone had kidnapped her—maybe the missing motorcyclist?—because they’d been too far away to determine how many passengers the vehicle held. But since they’d found her phone on the ground in the barn, everyone was leaning toward option number two.
Britt Rollins, or Hewitt Birch, or whoever had been riding that misty-blue motorcycle, had snatched O’Toole. And despite Keplar cursing a blue streak and hesitating for a moment as he had tried to decide what was more important, continuing to the meeting in the upper peninsula or coordinating the search for their missing associate, he’d finally ordered the helicopter’s pilot to land the bird in the nearest clear spot.
For the last hour, JD, Keplar, and Agent Douglas had been on the horn to every local law enforcement outfit from Ludington to Marquette to be on the lookout for the truck. They’d demanded local sheriff’s offices call their deputies out of bed and get them on the backroads to hunt for the missing agent. And they’d tasked the bureau’s field offices in both Chicago and Detroit to send every helicopter and drone they had to the western border of Michigan.
It'd been quite the undertaking. But now it seemed the appropriate steps had been taken and they could finally,finallyget back to hunting their fugitive.
JD glanced at his watch and noted the time. He’d officially been awake for thirty-six hours. The caffeine in his system no longer held the exhaustion at bay. Instead, it made him jumpy and paranoid.
This entire situation was getting out of hand. Or…rather…it’dbeenout of hand since Knox Rollins had decided to lead them on a merry chase across half the country. And as the hours ticked by, and as more and more people got involved, JD couldn’t shake the growing sense of alarm that started in the pit of his stomach and radiated outward until his limbs felt twitchy and his hands felt shaky.
If only Knox had?—
“That’s the last of it,” Keplar declared, interrupting JD’s disquieting thoughts. The older agent lumbered back to where JD and the others stood beside the silent, black helicopter.
