1
MIA
Mycheck engine light is a passive-aggressive little jerk.
Itflickers on just asIpass the rusted sign welcoming me toPineValley.It’smocking me.Itknows my bank account holds exactly three hundred dollars and twelve cents.ItknowsI’mrunning on straight caffeine and a half-eaten bag of stale pretzels.Thedashboard warning clearly understands that my entire career as a forensic auditor—my meticulous, spreadsheet-governed life—just went up in flames three hundred miles back inSeattle.
"Don'tyou dare,"Iwhisper to the steering wheel. "Iwill turn thisHondaCivicinto a planter.Iwill do it."
Theengine sputters in response.Thewet, coughing sound absolutely destroys my remaining confidence.
Snowswirls against the windshield, smearing in thick clumps.Thewipers squeak a rhythm matching the frantic thumping in my chest.Myfingers cramp around the wheel.Ineed this job.Theemail fromPeakWildernessOutfittersremained vague,asking for a consultant to review sensitive discrepancies, but the pay rate made my eyes water.
Idesperately need the money.Thedistraction is a close second.TheFBIraided my last client’s office the day afterIsigned off on their quarterly projections.
Asiren wails behind me.
Mystomach drops through the floorboard and hits the asphalt.
"No,"Ibreathe. "No, no, no."
Blueand red lights explode in the rearview mirror.Frantic, seizure-inducing strobes demand my immediate compliance.
Ipull over to the shoulder, the gravel crunching loudly under my tires.Myheart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Breathe,Mia.Youdidn’t do anything wrong.You’rethe auditor.Youfix the mess; you don’t make it.
Twovehicles box me in—a dark sedan in the front, anSUVblocking the rear.Menin cheap suits and windbreakers swarm the dyingHonda.
"MiaCarlson!"Theman at my window barks the name.Hisbuzz cut exposes raw scalp above flat, dark brown eyes. "Stepout of the vehicle."
"Why?"Iforce my shaking voice to steady. "Iwas doing thirty-five in a forty limit."
"Stepout of the vehicle now, or we remove you."
Heyanks the door open beforeIcan unbuckle.Coldmountain air rushes in, smelling of exhaust and snow.Hegrabs my arm.
"Hey!"Itwist away, instinct taking over. "Letgo!Youcan't just?—"
"FederalAgents.You'reunder arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud and embezzlement."
Theaccusations ring in my ears.
"That'sinsane,"Isnap, stumbling as he drags me onto the slushy shoulder. "I’ma forensic auditor.Icatch the fraud.Idon't commit it.Checkmy credentials.Checkmy?—"
"Wechecked,"BuzzCutsneers.Hespins me around, shoving me against the freezing metal of my own car. "Yoursignature is on the approval docs for the shell companies in theSterlingcase."
"Mysignature was forged!"Iyell, acidic panic rising in my throat. "Ireported that discrepancy two days ago!"
"Tellit to the judge."Coldsteel cuffs bite into my wrists, ratcheting tight as he jerks my hands in front of my stomach. "You'recoming with us."
"Thisis a mistake!"Ishout, thrashing against his grip.Heatflares in my chest, a violent contrast to the mountain air.Hottears of frustration sting my eyes.Ispent ten years building an ironclad reputation for being unbribable.Now, a stranger manhandles me on the shoulder of a narrow two-lane mountain road because my ex-boss needs a convenient scapegoat.
"Gether in the car,"BuzzCutorders the other agent.
Alow rumble vibrates through the soles of my boots.
Amechanical growl shakes the snowflakes out of the air, deeper than any thunder.Abehemoth of matte black steel tears aroundthe bend, roaring toward us while taking up both lanes of the narrow road.
