Mystery Child
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Shirlee McCoy
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HarlequinOne
They were coming.
She could hear them as clearly as she could hear her pulse pounding frantically in her ears. Feet crunching on dry leaves, clothing brushing against pine boughs, the sounds of pursuit ringing through the dark forest.
A twig snapped, and Quinn Robertson shrank deeper into the tree throw, her arms tight around her five-year-old niece. Jubilee didn’t speak, didn’t whimper or cry or beg for her mother. She hadn’t made a sound since they’d left Maine twelve hours ago.
Please, God, don’t let her make one now.
The prayer bubbled up, borne of desperation and just the tiniest bit of hope that it would be heard.
Please...
A light bounced over the thick tangle of roots that jutted up from the hole Quinn cowered in and swept toward the ridge she’d just run down. Tumbled down. She’d been terrified, and she hadn’t been careful. She was still terrified.
Had her brother, August, gotten her message?
Did he know how close she was to his house?
Did he realize she should already have arrived?
If she’d snagged her purse before she’d taken off, she could have texted to let him know she was in trouble, but she’d left it in the Jeep, her cell phone inside of it. There hadn’t been time to grab anything but Jubilee. By the time her niece was out of her booster seat, the car that had been following them, the car Quinn had pulled off the road to avoid, had made a U-turn and was heading back in their direction.
She’d run into the forest that lined the rutted country road. She’d had no other choice. Tabitha had entrusted Jubilee into her care. She’d begged Quinn to bring the little girl to her father in DC. Her real father. Not the man Tabitha was married to—the man who’d left bruises on Jubilee’s cheek, bruises on Tabitha’s throat. The one Quinn had known nothing about. She hadn’t known her sister was married. She’d had no idea Tabitha had a child. Five years had passed since she’d seen her sister face-to-face, and suddenly she was at Quinn’s door begging for help, her eye black, finger-sized bruises trailing down the column of her throat.
Quinn hadn’t hesitated. She’d agreed to do what Tabitha was asking. She probably would have agreed even if her sister had told her how much danger she might find herself in.
A lot of danger. More than she should be facing alone.
Quinn shuddered, holding her breath as someone raced past her hiding space. Jubilee lifted her head from Quinn’s shoulder, her long braids snagging on roots that jutted into the tree hole.
Please, don’t cry, Quinn wanted to say, but a light slid over their hiding spot, illuminating the darkness for a heartbeat of time.
Quinn eased deeper into the hole, the loamy scent of earth mixing with decaying leaves and rotting wood. Branches jabbed into her ribs and back, scraping skin off her shoulder as she pressed into the root system of the fallen tree.
A voice called out. Someone answered, footsteps pounding on the ground nearby. The hunters weren’t giving up. They were determined to find their prey.
Did they realize how close they were?
Could they hear the frantic pounding of Quinn’s heart? The quiet panting of Jubilee’s breath?
How long would it take for them to discover the fallen tree? The hole Quinn and Jubilee were cowering in? Long enough for August to find the Jeep? If he was out looking, if he’d gotten her message, if he realized she and Jubilee were in trouble, he could be there in minutes, but that was way too many “ifs” for Quinn’s peace of mind.
Leaves crackled, branches broke and Quinn could hear the loud gasping breaths of someone just feet away. She tensed, her arms tight around Jubilee. She had to protect her. She’d promised Tabitha that she would. Of course, at the time, she hadn’t realized she was putting herself at risk. Knowing the truth wouldn’t have changed anything. Quinn still would have agreed to Tabitha’s plan. Only she would have been much better prepared.
Instead, she’d blindly believed a sister she hadn’t seen in years and headed out with no weapon, no plan for protecting herself or Jubilee.
It will be easier to disappear if we’re separated. Take her to DC. Her biological father is there. Don’t call the police or contact anyone before you get there. My husband has money, and he knows people who would be happy to help him get me back. If Jarrod has to use Jubilee to do it, he will. The best thing for her, and for me, is for you to get her to DC. The kid deserves better than what she’s been getting. I guess maybe I do, too.
The kid...
Such a strange thing to call your own child. It should have been a clue that something wasn’t right, that maybe Tabitha wasn’t being completely honest.
Too late to worry about that now.
Quinn had to find a way out of the mess she was in. She scooted backward, the soft rustle of leaves making her freeze.
“Over here!” a man yelled, and Quinn bit back a scream.
She expected the roots that hid them from view to be pulled away, for a monster in the guise of a person to suddenly appear.
Jubilee’s arm snaked around Quinn’s neck, her fingers tangling in Quinn’s hair. The five-year-old was terrified, her body shaking, but she didn’t make a sound.
Good girl, Quinn wanted to say, but leaves crunched and twigs snapped, and she knew their pursuers were closing in. Two men? Three? She hadn’t gotten a good look. She’d been too busy sprinting through the trees.
Please, God, don’t let them find us.
Please.
The prayer whispered through her mind, a knee-jerk reaction to hard-core terror. She’d prayed like that before. The day after Cory’s brain cancer diagnosis, the weeks during his radiation and chemo treatments and at the end, when there’d been no hope, when Cory had been nothing but a shell of the man she’d married, she’d begged and pleaded and petitioned God.
Maybe He’d heard.
Maybe He hadn’t.
He hadn’t answered. Not in any way that had mattered.
Light splashed across the fallen oak, highlighting the giant tangle of roots that she and Jubilee had crawled beneath. She forced herself to stay still as the light found its way to the other side of the oak. The night went dark again, the woods silent and still. Leaves fell through the cracks in the root system, dirt raining down on Quinn’s head as someone moved past. Probably so close he could have reached in and grabbed Jubilee from Quinn’s arms.
She was stiff with fear, numb with it. She wanted to run and find another place to hide, but she didn’t know where the guy with the light had gone. There were no more shouts, no more pounding footsteps. Just the darkness, the silence and Jubilee’s arm around her neck.
In the distance, a car engine broke the silence, the sound growing closer with every passing second.
August?
If he’d gotten her message, he’d be out looking for her. She knew that. Just like she knew him. August was quick to plan and to act. He never hesitated. Not when it came to the people he loved.
That’s why she’d called him when she’d first realized she might be being followed. It’s why she’d listened when he’d told her to drive to his rural Maryland property. He’d promised to contact Jubilee’s father, have the guy meet them at August’s place.
It makes more sense than you driving to DC alone, Quinn, he’d said. If Tabitha is lying, you could be in a boatload of trouble for taking that kid out of Maine. The sooner you get her in her father’s hands, the better.
Not something she hadn’t thought about, but thinking about it hadn’t been enough to make her break the promise she’d made.
In for a penny. In for a pound.
That’s what Grandma Ruth had always said. No sense beginning something and not finishing it. At least not in her mind, and not in Quinn’s.
The car rumbled closer, the forest remaining silent. Not an animal moved, not a leaf rustled. The stillness terrified Quinn, the thought of someone lurking just out of sight made her pulse race. Jubilee shifted, the fabric of her dress swishing, the noise overly loud in the silence.
“Shhhh,” Quinn wanted to warn, but she didn’t dare make a sound. The car engine died, a door slammed and a long low whistle broke the silence. Somewhere in the distance, a man called out, his voice edged with panic. Feet pounded on dry leaves, branches snapped. Someone was running, and he wasn’t being quiet about it.
Was he calling off the hunt for Quinn and Jubilee?
Please, God...
Just that. She had nothing else, no profound prayer to offer, no bottomless well of hope. She’d used up every bit of faith she had when Cory was sick. Now, she planned for the worst, worked toward the best. She’d spent the past few years rebuilding her life, repaying medical bills that had piled up so high she hadn’t been sure she’d ever see the end of them. She’d worked full-time as a kindergarten teacher, part-time as a janitor. Sixty, seventy, eighty-hour workweeks, going home to the tiny efficiency apartment over Martha Graham’s bakery. She’d lived off ramen noodles and peanut-butter sandwiches. Two months ago, she’d finally paid the last medical bill. Now she was building her savings, looking down the road to a time when she could purchase a little house a few blocks away from Echo Lake.
If she survived tonight.
If a dozen things that could go wrong didn’t.
Another car door slammed, the sound reverberating through the forest. Tires squealed and an engine roared. Then, the world went silent again.
Quinn waited until her legs were numb, her arms stiff, before she moved. She waited until a night owl called from a nearby branch and a small animal scurried through the tree’s exposed roots. Finally, she eased out into the cool night air, Jubilee still clinging to her neck.
Moonlight filtered through the thick tree canopy, dappling the leaves with gold. She glanced up the ridge she’d barreled down. Her Jeep wasn’t far from the top, parked in the small clearing she’d veered into when she’d realized the black SUV she’d spotted on the interstate had followed her onto the narrow road that led to August’s house. She could walk back to the Jeep, but she didn’t trust that the men who’d been following her were gone. Sure, she’d heard a vehicle drive away, but she’d also heard one arrive. Maybe it had been August, or maybe it had been someone else. Someone who wanted to get his hands on Jubilee?
Quinn couldn’t take chances with the little girl’s life.
She’d have to walk through the woods until she reached August’s property. She hefted Jubilee onto her hip, pried the little girl’s fingers from her neck.
“Just a little looser, sweetheart,” she murmured. “If I pass out from lack of oxygen, we’ll both be in trouble.”
Jubilee didn’t respond, but her gaze darted from Quinn to the ridge.
Her silent watchfulness wasn’t normal five-year-old behavior. Quinn worked with kids every day, had been teaching for years, knew exactly how most children Jubilee’s age would act. Typical five-year-olds didn’t stay quiet during long road trips. They didn’t stay quiet when they were scared or hurt, either. Of course, this wasn’t a typical situation. Quinn couldn’t really expect Jubilee to act in a typical way. Maybe she would start talking once she was reunited with her father. Daniel Boone Anderson. The name was scrawled across the sealed manila envelope that Tabitha had thrust into Quinn’s hands. Beneath that, an address and phone number had been printed neatly next to the word HEART. Jubilee’s father. His work address and phone number.
That’s all Tabitha had said about the envelope.
The envelope that Quinn had promised not to open. The one she’d left tucked under the driver’s-side floor mat in the Jeep.
A soft sound drifted through the darkness. Not leaves crackling or twigs snapping. Just a whisper of something that shouldn’t be there. A shifting in the air, a soft sigh.
Quinn froze, her arms tightening around Jubilee as she scanned the darkness. Nothing but shadowy trees and bushes, but the night had gone quiet again.
Was someone moving along the ridge? A dark figure darting through the trees?
She turned and barreled into a hard chest.
She screamed, the sound ripping from her throat as she tried to run. Someone snagged her shirt, dragged her back. She screamed again, Jubilee’s terrified howls mixing with hers.
A hard hand slapped over her mouth.
“Shhhhh!” a man hissed, but there was no way she planned to go quietly. She slammed her head into his chest, tried to knock him off balance. If she could loosen his grip, she and Jubilee might have a chance to escape.
* * *
Having a head shoved into his solar plexus wasn’t exactly how Malone Henderson had planned to spend the first morning of his vacation. A couple of eggs, buttered toast, some canoeing on Deep Creek Lake—that had been the plan.
A wiggling, squirming, head-butting woman was not.
Neither was a screaming kid.
He pulled the woman up against his chest, tightening his grip just enough to keep her from slamming her head into his chest again.
“Enough,” he said. “You want whoever ran you off the road to find us?”
The woman mumbled something against his palm. The kid shrieked even louder.
This was definitely not what he’d had in mind when he’d left HEART headquarters the previous day, fought his way through Beltway traffic and headed to the tiny vacation rental that he’d planned to spend seven very quiet days and nights enjoying.
“With how loudly the kid is screaming,” he said, hoping that reason would win out over terror and that Quinn Robertson would calm down enough to calm down the kid, “your brother isn’t going to need me to call in our location. He’ll find his way here all on his own. So will whoever else happens to be hanging out in these woods.”
Quinn stilled, all the fight seeping out of her.
The kid was another story. She sounded like one of the baby hogs Malone’s grandfather had kept on their Tennessee farm, squealing frantically for her mother.
Only Quinn wasn’t this kid’s mother.
If Malone’s boss Chance Miller was right, August McConnell’s other sister, Tabitha, wasn’t the little girl’s mother, either. Her mother was Boone Anderson’s deceased wife. Boone was the kid’s father, and five years of searching, five years of hoping and praying that the infant Boone’s wife had stolen away from him would be returned, had finally ended. Boone would have what he’d been praying for. He’d have his child back. Everyone at HEART was focused on making sure that nothing went wrong, that the little girl who might be Boone’s would arrive in DC safely.
If Boone hadn’t been on the way home from a hostage rescue mission in Turkey, he’d have been the one hanging onto Quinn Robertson listening to the kid scream. Boone had been notified of his daughter’s supposed return. He’d be stateside in thirty hours. Until he returned, Malone and Chance were taking responsibility for the child. There’d be lots of questions, lots of police and FBI involvement.
And Malone was going to be in the middle of it all until Chance arrived from DC. Another two hours maybe. That’s what Chance had said when he’d called to ask Malone to drive to August McConnell’s place. It had seemed like an easy enough thing to do. Malone was taking his vacation in a cabin not too far from McConnell’s property. All he had to do was wait around until Chance arrived.
Of course, things were never as easy as they were supposed to be. At least not in Malone’s experience.
And, this?
It was proving to be pretty complicated.
He eased his hand from Quinn’s mouth, took a step away. He hadn’t meant to scare her or the child. He’d been working out of an abundance of caution, making sure that the person crawling out from the roots of an old tree wasn’t armed and dangerous. He and August had found Quinn’s abandoned Jeep, they’d heard men moving through the forest, they’d assumed trouble. Doing that was a whole lot better than winding up dead.
“No more screaming, kid,” he said quietly.
“Telling her that isn’t going to make her stop,” Quinn muttered, taking a step back and then another. If she kept going, she’d fall into the hole he’d watched her climb out of.
“And running from me isn’t going to keep you safe,” he responded, snagging her elbow as her foot slipped between thick roots. The tree throw had been a good hiding place. He’d give her that, but she should have stayed put until her brother arrived, and she knew she was safe.
“Watch it,” he cautioned, pulling her away from the roots. “We don’t want to end our first meeting on a bad note.”
“We sure began it on a bad note. Where’s August?” she asked, shrugging away, her arms still tight around the little girl.
“Probably hiding until the kid stops shrieking.”
“She wouldn’t be screaming, if you hadn’t terrified her.” There was no heat in her words, no fear. For someone who’d been run off the road and chased through the woods, she seemed calm.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure who was coming up out of that hole, and I didn’t want to be shot before I figured it out.”
She nodded, her attention on the girl. “It’s okay, Jubilee. Everything is going to be fine.”
She smoothed thick braids that fell over the kid’s shoulders.
Red braids?
It was too dark to see, but Boone’s little girl had red hair. At least, she had when she was a baby. Malone had seen the photo in Boone’s office, sitting right next to the one of his new wife and their children.
“Hush,” Quinn murmured against the girl’s hair, and to Malone’s surprise, the kid pressed her lips together and stopped screaming, the abrupt silence thick and heavy.
He glanced around, eyeing the shadowy trees and the heavy undergrowth. Anyone could be hiding there, and all it would take was one bullet to take Quinn or the little girl out. If that was the perp’s goal. If not, Malone would be the target. Take him out. Grab the kid. Get out before August arrived.
“Let’s go.” He took Quinn’s arm, leading her toward the ridge and the Jeep that was parked at the top of it.
“August—”
“Is smart enough to figure out that we’re not going to wait out in the open for him to show,” he cut her off, digging into his coat pocket and pulling out the little pack of chocolate candies he always kept there. Years ago, he’d used them to bribe his siblings and cousins. Now, he used them to comfort scared kids. A necessity, because he wasn’t like Boone or Chance or Chance’s brother Jackson. He didn’t have the ability to look kind or easygoing or harmless. Most kids took one look at Malone’s face and were terrified. According to his coworker Stella Silverstone, that wasn’t because of his scar. It was because of his scowl. One he apparently wore all the time. The candy might not make that any easier on the eyes, but it sure helped get cooperation from kids. That went a long way when he was trying to get them out of dangerous situations.
“You hungry, Kendal?” he asked, holding the little packet out to her.
“Her name is Jubilee,” Quinn said.
“Not if she’s Boone Anderson’s daughter, it isn’t,” he responded, smiling as the kid took the candy from his hand.
“Even if she’s his daughter, her name is Jubilee. That’s what she goes by. It’s what she knows. Forcing her to respond to something else would just be cruel.”
“Okay. Jubilee it is.” It wasn’t his battle to fight, and he wasn’t concerned one way or another with the kid’s name. What he was concerned about was getting her to Boone alive.
That shouldn’t have been a problem.
Chance had assured him that the job would be easy. Meet August McConnell at his house, wait with Quinn Robertson and the little girl she was traveling with until Chance arrived. Go back to his vacation.
Piece of cake.
Only, of course, it wasn’t.
That was a lot worse for Jubilee than it was for Malone. He could vacation anytime. He had plenty of leave saved and plenty of freedom to go when and where he wanted. Jubilee deserved better than this, though. He planned to make sure she got it. He’d spent too many years helping raise his four siblings and six cousins to want to spend much time with kids now, but he wasn’t going to let a child be hurt or scared without doing something about it.
Maybe that’s why he loved his job so much. He got to effect change in the lives of kids like Jubilee all the time. As a matter of fact, half the cases he’d worked for HEART involved kids who were being used, abused or held hostage. It seemed as though that was the way of the world—the innocent were often the most ill-used.
God was still in control, that’s what Granddad Cooper had always said. Granddad had been a preacher. He’d also been caregiver to a houseful of kids. All of them left orphaned when their parents died in a multivehicle car wreck outside of Reedville, Tennessee. That wreck had cost Granddad Cooper his two oldest sons and their wives, but it hadn’t cost him his faith. He’d held fast to that through the next twenty-some years of trying to raise eleven kids.
Malone probably could have learned a thing or two from that. If he’d ever slowed down enough to think about it.
He frowned, eyeing the top of the ridge.
The silence was bothering him. A lot. So was the fact that August hadn’t shown up. With all the screaming Jubilee had done, Malone would have expected a guy like August to come running. He had ex-marine written all over him—quiet, gruff and not too keen on strangers showing up in the darkest hours of the morning. Not surprising. Chance had done a background check before he’d called Malone. According to him, August had served in the Marine Corps until three years ago. He’d taken a medical discharge, then, and had worked private security ever since.
Malone had spent forty minutes with the guy, and he could say for certain that August didn’t do patience, he didn’t believe in waiting and he’d never hold back when he could be taking action.
Unless something kept him from doing it.
Or someone.
Malone didn’t believe in leaving anyone behind, but he couldn’t risk Quinn and Jubilee’s lives. He’d bring them back to August’s place. Once he made sure they were secure there, he’d return for August.
What he wouldn’t do was the expected.
Quinn’s Jeep and August’s vehicle were at the top of the ridge. If someone wanted to stage an ambush, that would be the place to do it.
“Change of plans,” he said, taking Jubilee from Quinn’s arms. “We’re going to walk to your brother’s place.”
“I can carry her.” Quinn reached for Jubilee.
“That will slow us down.”
“I ran through the woods with her in my arms. I think I can manage a short hike.”
“You can, but is it the safest option?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Jubilee was screaming like a banshee, and your brother didn’t show up. That could be because he was a good distance away and wasn’t sure what direction the screams were coming from, or it could be because someone stopped him.” He didn’t hold back, didn’t have time to soften his answer.
“That’s not a pleasant thought.”
“No. It’s not. Neither is the thought of you carrying Jubilee if some guy comes charging after us. She’s little but so are you, and it will be a lot easier for me to run with her than for you to.”
“I prefer petite to little,” Quinn muttered, moving beside him as he followed the ridgeline. She took two strides for every one of his, her small frame drowning in an oversize sweatshirt.
“If you’re dead,” he responded bluntly, “I guess that won’t matter.”
She didn’t respond.
He guessed she’d gotten the point.
Stella would have had a field day reaming him out for his less-than-delicate approach. Fortunately, she wasn’t there. Something was going on, and until Malone knew what it was, he didn’t have time to waste playing nice.
He jogged through the trees, the kid’s long braids slapping his shoulders and face. She had a bruise on her cheek. He could see the dark smudge of it against her pale skin. He thought there were freckles on her nose, too.
Freckles and red hair?
He didn’t ask Quinn. No talking. As little noise as possible. Every cell in his body focused on getting them out of the woods and to safety.
Up ahead, a shadow moved through the trees. Silent, barely visible in the darkness. Malone reached for Quinn’s hand, yanked her behind a huge evergreen.
“What—?”
He pressed his finger to her lips, gestured for her to be quiet. For a moment, he heard nothing. Then, furtive steps. The hunter on the prowl. He handed Jubilee to Quinn, pressed them both deeper into the pine needles.
“Stay here until I come back for you,” he whispered in Quinn’s ear, the words more breath than sound.
She nodded her understanding, and then he slid back into the forest, heading for the shadowy figure that was stalking them.
