Deliver Us from Evil (18 page)

Mai jerked Kanya's shoulder. “This is
not
our fault! We are not fools.”

Kanya snorted. “We let ourselves be sold into this . . . this . . . slavery.” The dejection in her voice enraged Mai.

She shoved Kanya, then stood and glared down at her. “We were tricked, yes. But we can do something.” The fury subsided, leaving her despondent. “We cannot give up now, not before we have even tried.”

Kanya didn't look up.

“Look, we have to try. To do something to help ourselves.” Mai jumped as a braying laugh filled the hall. She lowered her voice. “I am going to do this with or without you. I can at least say I refused to accept the situation.”

Kanya sniffed and lifted her gaze to lock with Mai's. “Okay.”

Mai held out her hand and pulled her friend to her feet.

“I will see what I can get tonight.” Kanya wiped her face clean of tears.

“We better try and sleep—Madam Nancy will notice if we look tired.” Although how the woman expected them to nap was beyond her. Then again, most everything was beyond her.

Except her plan to escape.

Saturday, 3:25 p.m.

Underground

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

“SHOULDN'T THE NATIONAL GUARD be here by now?” Roark stood beside the cramped hole that would take them out of the cave.

“They'll get here as soon as they can. We need to get to an area where the helicopter can land anyway.” Brannon nudged past him. “Let me see if we'll be able to make it through the keyhole.”

Before he could say a word, she squeezed into the little space. An area even more confined than the tunnel. His mouth went dry. How much more could he take?

“You could just tell her why you don't like tight places.” Lincoln stood beside him, his quiet voice unnerving Roark.

“I'm fine.”

“You know, both Brannon and I are pretty good listeners.”

He knew Lincoln was right, which was why he chose to keep his mouth shut. Having to share with Dr. Martin was bad enough. Exposing his weakness to Brannon would be . . . well, unthinkable. At least until he figured out what exactly he felt for her.

Because he definitely felt something.

“Guess that would be a no.”

“Nothing personal, Lincoln. It's something I have to deal with.”

“Guys, it'll be tight, but I think y'all can fit.” Brannon's voice sounded so far away. “It's only about eight feet long, so just hold your breath and hurry.”

Eight feet of walls closing in on him? The tunnel had almost done him in. Now this?

“You go first. I'll be right behind you.” Lincoln laid a hand on Roark's shoulder.

“No. You go ahead. I'll bring up the rear.” Less chance of Brannon seeing him like before—having a panic attack.

Lincoln cast a final glance at him, then moved into the crushing slit in stone, dragging his backpack behind him. As soon as he did, darkness swept over the room.

Roark's heart raced. He could do this. Mind over matter and all that. They had to get out. He had to get out. Had to get the heart out or there'd be more innocent victims. He gripped the cooler against his sweat-coated palm.

“All clear. Come on, Roark.” Lincoln's voice drifted through the hole.

Roark took a deep breath. Turning sideways, he held his breath and shoved himself into the crevice.

The rock pushed against him. The air vacuumed from the space.

Roark froze. He closed his eyes, struggling to force air in through his nose. He couldn't move. His feet were cemented to the spot. Darkness shrouded him. White dots danced before his eyes.

“Mister, are we gonna be okay? I'm scared.”

Roark gathered little Mindy in his arms. “We'll be fine. We just have to find a way out.”

“I don't like it here. It's dark and scary.”

“I know, honey. I know.” Roark glanced around the elevator shaft, trying to catch a glimpse of anything. Any route of escape. He hadn't wanted to take the little girl this way, but what else could he do? Demott had said to wait for backup, but he couldn't. He had to take control of the situation.

Her parents and brother were dead, and Roark had to escape with Mindy into the elevator shaft. To save her life.

But their options now were limited. His options. It was his responsibility to get Mindy out alive.

The hum of the elevator started. The car jerked.

“Mister!”

The car jerked again and began ascending.

Roark threw Mindy beneath him. What was he going to do?
God, help us!

But the elevator shaft burst into flames. Roark tried to roll on top of Mindy, but she panicked. Her screams filled the shaft as the fire grabbed her. He reached for her, but the cable snapped, catching him across the jaw and knocking him out.

He had awakened in the hospital with a scar and a fear of tight, dark places.

“Roark?” Lincoln called out.

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Roark fought to shove the memories away.

“Roark, are you okay?” Lincoln called again.

His feet wouldn't respond, no matter how much Roark ordered them to move. He could make out voices but none calling to him.

Except the ghost of little Mindy Pugsley.

A soft hand grabbed his forearm. “Roark?”

He jerked, drilling his head into the stone. “Mindy?”

“It's Brannon. Come on. Follow me.” She tugged on his arm.

He slid a step closer to her.

“Good. Just keep coming with me. You're doing great.”

What felt like an eternity later, he cleared the hole in the rock. He dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Brannon laid a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

His worst nightmare had come true—Brannon had seen his weakness firsthand. Now she'd see what a fake he was. What a phony. Why he didn't deserve her interest. She'd been through enough. She didn't need some wimpy guy who couldn't let go of the past.

Saturday, 4:15 p.m.

Parkwest Medical Center

Knoxville, Tennessee

THEY INTENDED TO KEEP him out of the loop.

How dare the FBI and US Attorney's office acquire information about the witness and not tell him—again. He sat on the Coalition. He was a US congressman. He was invested in the outcome of this situation.

Warren smoothed his tie against his shirt, wishing he'd had the forethought to grab another oxford on his way. The wrinkles and creases could work to his advantage, however, portraying him as a hands-on type of congressman, a working man's representative.

He smiled at his reflection in the hospital bathroom mirror, then twisted his face into different expressions. When he found the one that looked most earnest and sincere, Warren stepped back from the row of sinks. Yes, this expression would endear him in the hearts of his constituents.

Only through his aide had he learned more particulars. That Wilks's wife had died at home from a long battle with cancer. Wilks had called her son, then left, going straight to the Knoxville FBI office. He hadn't even waited until the son got there—just left his wife's dead body in the master bed and departed. The FBI were now reactivating the search for the son and had requested a copy of the wife's autopsy report. The information was nothing vitally important to the case, per se, but it annoyed him that no one had informed him.

The door swung open and Kevin scuttled inside. “Congressman, the press is waiting.”

“Are all the major affiliates represented?”

“Yes, sir. ABC, CBS, NBC, FOX, and CNN. All here and accounted for.”

“Good.” Warren tossed a final glance at his reflection, smoothed down his thinning hair, and waltzed past his aide. One of these days he'd have to check out all those hair restoration infomercials. He certainly could afford it. First, however, he had to play to the public—his public.

Kevin doubled his steps to keep up with Warren. “Sir, Marshal Demott has caught wind of your press conference.”

Warren slowed his pace and stared, with a single brow hitched, at his aide. “And?”

“He's not too happy, sir. He's trying to get a gag order.”

“A gag order?” Irritation seethed through him. Hiding information, now trying for a gag order? What did the marshal know that wasn't in any of the reports? What didn't he want others to know? “Well, we'll just see about that now, won't we?” Warren strode toward the hospital's main entrance. He stomped on the mat, causing the glass doors to whoosh open.

Camera bulbs flashed, reporters called his name, bright lights from video feeds shone in his eyes. Warren straightened his shoulders and moved to the area set up with microphones and a podium, just right of the entrance. He held up his hands as he moved behind the wooden podium. “Ladies and gentlemen.”

A moderate silence fell over the crowd as the reporters and cameramen scooted in front of the podium. Hushed shoving and pushing murmured over the group as media personnel vied for the best position.

“I'd like to make a statement, then I'll open the floor for questions.” He gazed over them, the hungry buzzards. Time to give them what they wanted, what they craved. “The witness in the child-trafficking ring is stable, but the surgeon has updated us that the heart needs to get here as soon as possible for the transplant surgery to be successful.”

Rumblings and questions popped up from the flock of vultures.

Warren cleared his throat and held up his palms again. “We know the helicopter transporting the heart crashed, but the heart and the US marshal escorting it survived the crash. A search-and-rescue helicopter from the Great Smoky Mountains National Park found the crash site but was prohibited from taking off when shots were fired.”

Gasps moved through the crowd. Perfect. Now he had their undivided attention. “The marshal has kept the heart safe, folks, despite being fired upon. As we speak, a National Guard heli- copter is en route to the area.” He twisted his face into the concerned expression he'd practiced in the men's room. “Now, my time is very limited, but I'll field a few questions.”

“Congressman, what about the child-trafficking ring?”

Warren darted his gaze through the mass of media until he found the rookie reporter who'd posed the question. He locked his stare on the young man. “As far as we know, the only person who has information regarding this alleged ring is the witness in protective custody.”

“Who shot at the marshal?”

“We don't know that information at this time.” Warren swung his gaze to Dineen Milner, the tall brunette who was the star field reporter for NBC. “I'm sure the marshal will be thoroughly debriefed upon his arrival and we'll know more.”

“Congressman, have there been any casualties?”

Warren lowered his brows and set his jaw as he stared at Roni Kednig, the saucy reporter from ABC. “Sadly, yes. The pilot transporting the heart was killed in the crash. From the information we've received, which is limited at this time, the flight medic transporting the heart has also been killed.”

“In the crash?” Ms. Kednig pressed.

“No, in the exchange of gunfire.” Warren flicked his eyes to the up-and-coming reporter from FOX. “Next.”

“What is the estimated time of arrival of the heart?” The reporter blinked as more camera flashes went off.

“The most up-to-date information we have is still vague, but we're anticipating the arrival within the next couple of hours or so.”

Heather Tilton, the seasoned reporter from CNN, pushed to the front of the crowd. “Congressman, can you give us any further details on the child-trafficking ring itself?”

Kevin touched his elbow.

Warren glanced over and noticed Demott standing off to the side of the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest. Straightening, Warren shook his head. “That's all I have at this time. I'll keep you updated as the situation progresses.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Thank you all for coming.”

Kevin took Warren's place behind the podium and reiterated to the reporters that they would keep the media updated as they received information. While Kevin handled the little scavengers, Warren strode to face the chief marshal.

“Was that really the best thing to do, Congressman?” Demott's eyes narrowed to little slits.

Warren shrugged. “The public has a right to know.”

“Not if it compromises the case or puts people in harm's way.”

“How does holding a press conference put anyone in danger, Marshal?”

Demott's gaze scanned the crowd beginning to disperse. “Whoever is involved in the ring will soon be aware that the one person who can blow their cover is about to undergo surgery.”

“And he's being guarded by US marshals.” Warren cocked his head to the side. “Are you concerned your team can't handle it?”

Opening his mouth, then snapping it shut, Demott glared at him for a moment, then turned and marched back into the hospital.

Warren reached into his breast pocket and whipped out his pack of cigarettes. Some people smoked after sex—he smoked for the same reason but different circumstances. Satisfaction was still satisfaction, no matter the conditions. And winning people over made him crave the nicotine every time.

SIXTEEN

Saturday, 4:20 p.m.

Southeast of Rainbow Falls

Great Smoky Mountains National Park, Tennessee

THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN played peekaboo behind the snow clouds, the soft glow moving like shadows over the valley. Dusk fell over the landscape with a hush.

Brannon lifted the water bottle and took another sip. “How long do you think he'll be?”

Lincoln smiled. “Who knows? He saw footprints and had to track.”

“Do you think somebody else is really after us?”

“You heard what Roark said. No mistaking the fresh footprints though. Somebody's been out here recently.” Lincoln took a swig from his own bottle. “This whole situation reeks.”