Exit Strategy (2 page)

She jumped back and clenched her fists in front of her, steeling herself against the throbbing in her right arm. “Touch me and I’ll kick your balls all the way up to your throat.”

This time it was his turn to blink in surprise. His mouth tightened into a hard line, making her immediately regret her rash words. Angering a man with a gun was never a good idea.

Rushing to fill the tense silence, she said, “You keep saying ‘they’ and ‘someone.’ You’re here to protect me, right? Someone
other
than my family is after me?
They
want to hurt me? Or maybe you got the wrong house, the wrong person.” She latched on to that last thought with the desperation of a skydiver clawing for the secondary chute when the primary failed.

He shook his head as if she were daft. “They don’t want to hurt you,
Miss Hightower
. They want you
dead
.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, the certainty in his voice and the emphasis on her name telling her there had been no mistake. A renewed stab of fear shot straight to her gut. “Why are you so sure?” she whispered.

“Because I’m the one they hired to kill you.”

Chapter Two

Day One—­11:20 p.m.

M
ason shook his head as Sabrina Hightower tore off through the trees to escape him. Obviously, telling her that he was supposed to kill her wasn’t the wisest thing he could have said. But
not
killing someone he’d been sent to terminate was a new experience and he was a bit out of his element.

He’d expected a tiny woman like Sabrina to be docile and scared, easily subdued, especially barefoot, in a nightshirt, and without the glasses that he’d pocketed when he found them on her bedroom floor. Most ­people in her position would have cowered before him instead of acting like a little warrior, trying to bite through his shirt even though he was twice her size. He’d had to work at not laughing when she’d threatened to kick his balls up to his throat. She definitely had spunk and courage, which—­unfortunately—­only added to her appeal.

When he’d carried her through her backyard, her sexy, round bottom bouncing so temptingly next to his face, a fog of lust had slammed into him until all he could think about was the feel of her soft thighs beneath his hand. He hadn’t planned on stopping in the clearing. It had been an act of desperation, to put some space between them so he could reengage his brain. And then she’d ruined that plan by pelting him with questions while her nipples formed mouthwatering, tight peaks against her shirt. Add to that her arrow-­straight, no-­nonsense black hair that swished halfway down her back, and sassy bangs that framed her defiant blue eyes, and he’d been lost.

He swore viciously. He was a fool to have let her rattle him. The only reason she had was because Ramsey, his friend from his army days, had raised questions about Sabrina’s guilt. Or, more accurately, the concerns of Ramsey’s
friends
—­a former enforcer and his wife who both believed Sabrina’s EXIT order had been faked, even though they were still trying to prove it.

Mason had always been honored to work as an enforcer for EXIT, to bridge the security gap left by the traditional alphabet agencies. Killing, when he was called upon to do so, wasn’t something he relished or enjoyed. But sacrificing one evil life in exchange for dozens, hundreds, or even
one
innocent life, was a trade he was compelled, and duty bound, to make. He couldn’t stomach the idea of waiting for a heinous crime to be committed if he could stop it ahead of time. Inaction, allowing ­people to die when he could have saved them, was inexcusable.

But only if the target, the mark, was truly guilty of the charges listed in the EXIT order.

Mason was betting—­
hoping
—­that Ramsey’s friends were frauds and they couldn’t prove their claims. Because, if Sabrina was innocent, if her EXIT order was wrong, then other orders could have been wrong. Which meant that ­people he’d terminated in the past could have been innocent too.
That
prospect was too horrible to contemplate.

He checked the GPS tracker on the multipurpose unit on his wrist. The tiny transmitter he’d tacked onto Sabrina’s nightshirt when he’d first picked her up gave a strong, clear signal. She was heading due west. Convenient.

After taking off in a jog, he noted the GPS coordinates on his watch and made a call on his cell phone. “Guide to base. Over.”

The phone crackled. “Base here. Over.”

“Tracking target. Heading your way. ETA ten minutes. Over.”

“
Tracking?
You didn’t
acquire
the target?”

Mason gritted his teeth. Having someone question his actions was another new and entirely unpleasant experience, especially since the person doing the questioning was a man he’d spoken to only once, in the rushed meeting Ramsey had arranged less than two hours ago. A meeting that had put him behind on his mission.

Since he hadn’t called in and sent a picture as proof of death, EXIT had probably already dispatched another enforcer to terminate Sabrina. Which was why Mason had been in such a rush that he’d been sloppy, breaking the glass in her door to get in quickly and get her out of harm’s way before someone else showed up. A decision that had ended up being a mistake since it had warned her of his presence and sent him on a time-­eating search through the house for her.

Now he was risking his career—­and his life—­based on his friend Ramsey’s trust in a former enforcer turned rogue whose past was shrouded in rumors and secrecy. Ramsey might have worked on dozens of EXIT missions with the rogue enforcer, but until tonight, Mason had never met the man. He had no shared history on which to base any trust. Still, he couldn’t stomach letting Sabrina die if there was even a chance she was a victim in all of this, so he’d agreed to play along, for now.

“Just watch out for her,” he snapped. “She’ll reach the road before I do.” He ended the call without waiting for Devlin Buchanan’s reply.

S
ABRINA FELL OVER
another log, landing hard on her hands and knees. Again. She pounded the ground in frustration and wished for the hundredth time that she’d taken an extra few seconds to find her glasses before running out of her bedroom.

She searched the dark line of trees behind her and drew deep, gasping breaths. What had she heard right before she’d fallen? Footsteps? She heard nothing now. Even the night birds and insects had stopped singing and chirping, as if they sensed the dangerous hunter on her trail.

If you want to kill me, Tall-­Dark-­and-­Deadly, you’ll have to earn it. I’m not going to make it easy for you.

Bracing herself against the shooting pain in her arm and bruised knees, she shoved to her feet and took off again. An agonizing few minutes later she glimpsed a break in the trees, and something else. A road? Maybe the Blue Ridge Parkway that snaked around the protected area behind her house? Hope spurred her forward in a wobbly lope.

She burst through the trees into the open. A dark ribbon of asphalt stretched out in the moonlight, boasting one of the familiar wooden Appalachian Trail signs a few feet away.
Yes!
She grabbed hold of the sign, leaning on it as she tried to catch her breath. Looking down the road, she willed someone to come along. She’d heard that tourists traveled this scenic highway at all hours.

Please, please, please.

Headlights flashed off to the right. A dark-­colored vehicle seemed to appear from out of nowhere, barreling up the hill. Terrified the driver might pass her by, she ran out onto the road directly in its path, waving her good arm over her head.

Brakes squealed. The Hummer’s nose dove toward the ground as it screeched to a halt just a few feet from her.

Sabrina ran to the driver’s door and pounded on the glass. The man behind the wheel glanced at the woman sitting beside him before lowering the window. He rested his arm on the door, the dark shape of a tattoo on his massive biceps peeking out from beneath his shirtsleeve. The dashboard lights illuminated his face, though his eyes narrowed dangerously as they dipped to the blood on her arm.

His jaw tightened, giving him an angry, fierce expression that was so similar to the one Tall-­Dark-­and-­Deadly had worn that it sent a spike of alarm straight to Sabrina’s belly. Her would-­be savior had some kind of high-­tech binoculars on the top of his head, flipped up the way someone would wear sunglasses when not using them.

Why would someone wear binoculars at night?

Probably for the same reason someone would wear a Kevlar vest.

Trap!
Her mind screamed the warning. She took a quick step back. Of
course
she hadn’t been lucky enough to reach the road just as a vehicle came up the hill. The Hummer must have been
waiting
and only flipped its headlights on once she’d stumbled out of the woods. Because “luck” was never a word she associated with herself, unless she slapped the word “bad” in front of it. Could these be the same ­people who’d abducted her grandfather? And now they were after her?

“You look like you could use some help, miss,” the man said.

Sabrina took another step back, shaking her head. “I, ah, thought you were someone else. Sorry. Please, go on ahead. The person I’m . . . waiting for will be here soon.” She looked down the road as if expecting someone to come up the parkway any second and backed toward the side of the road.

A car door slammed. Sabrina jerked toward the Hummer.

The female passenger was rounding the hood, holding out her hands as if to show Sabrina that she meant no harm. Moonlight bathed her face, illuminating a smile so sympathetic and kind that Sabrina hesitated. Had she jumped to the wrong conclusion? Could these ­people really be harmless strangers,
not
in league with the man who was after her?

“Please,” the woman said, opening the door behind the driver and waving Sabrina forward. “Let us help you. You’ve got blood all over your arm. We’ll take you to the hospital.”

Sabrina glanced at her cut, which was still oozing blood. When she looked back at the woman, she was staring at something over Sabrina’s shoulder.

Sabrina whirled around.

Two strong arms grabbed her, yanking her back against a familiar hard body.

“No!” she screamed. “Let me go.” She twisted violently, trying to get away from him. “Help me!” she cried to the woman.

The woman flushed guiltily.

Sometimes Sabrina hated being right.

She stomped her heels on top of her captor’s boots and tried to wrench herself out of his arms.

“Stop it, Sabrina,” a familiar Southern drawl ordered next to her ear. “You’re just going to hurt yourself.”

“It’ll be worth it if I hurt you too,” she spat out, trying to elbow him in the stomach.

His right arm tightened over her arms, beneath her breasts, crushing her against him, effectively immobilizing her except for her feet. She kicked and flailed backward, slamming her right heel into his shin.

He sucked in a breath and shifted his body sideways.

“I didn’t want to do this. You’ve left me no choice,” he bit out.

She could feel him reaching for something. His gun? Alarm spiked through her. She drew a deep breath to scream just as he pressed a cloth over her nose and mouth, the smell sickeningly sweet.

No, no, no!
She tried to fight him, to hold her breath, but she could already feel a heavy lethargy flooding through her veins as whatever drug he was using began to take effect. She silently pleaded with her eyes for the driver and woman to help her.

The man’s expression was stony. The woman bit her bottom lip and looked away.

“Stop fighting me,” her captor’s deep voice whispered near Sabrina’s ear. “It’s easier if you don’t fight.”

Said the spider to the fly.

Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen. Dark spots swam in her vision.

“Breathe,” he ordered. “You’ve got no reason to fear me if you’re innocent. Take a breath.”

Innocent of what? She hadn’t done anything wrong!

A wave of dizziness had her clutching his arm.

Is this what happened to you, Grampy? Did they do this to you too?

Grief slammed into her as she finally accepted the possibility that she might never see her beloved Grampy Hightower’s face again.

“Sabrina, breathe,” her captor ordered, a note of worry in his voice.

She jerked her face to the side, desperately taking a quick breath of untainted air. “Go to hell.”

“Already been there.” His voice held a tinge of bitterness as he clamped the cloth over her nose and mouth again.

Unable to fight the desperate need for air, Sabrina allowed herself one shallow breath. Her world went dark.

M
ASON CAUG
HT
S
ABRINA’S
unconscious body in his arms and scooped her against his chest, more shaken than he’d been in a long time. She’d fought like a hellcat, defiant to the last. But even her curses couldn’t conceal the bone-­deep fear in the tone of her voice. Fear that he had caused. Had his other marks felt that kind of fear before their executions? He didn’t know, had never cared to find out. Had never
cared
. Period. Because they deserved the punishment that justice had dictated. And it was killing
him
not knowing whether Sabrina deserved it too. For the first time ever, as he looked down at her angelic face and cradled her delicate body, he fervently hoped his mark was innocent.

Stop it.
Enforcer Training 101: Never identify with the enemy. Never become attached. If Sabrina was guilty—­and she probably was—­he’d have to carry out his duty just as if she were any other mark.

He didn’t understand what it was about her that tugged at his sympathies. But if he didn’t get a handle on it now, he was going to make mistakes. And in his line of work, mistakes could be deadly. He drew a deep breath and forced himself to look up from the confusing woman in his arms.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Devlin Buchanan demanded from the open driver’s window. “She’s bleeding all over the place.”

The censure in his voice had Mason bristling with anger, mostly because Buchanan was right. He should have taken better care of her, should have bandaged her arm as soon as he’d seen the cut. But to Buchanan, he said, “She’s alive. Which is more than any of my other marks can say.”

Buchanan’s eyes narrowed.

His wife, Emily, a brown-­eyed brunette several inches taller than Sabrina, waved toward the open door behind her husband. “We don’t have time to argue. Put her in the car.
Please.
”

Mason hesitated. Things might be going according to the hastily constructed plan they’d made at the cabin before he’d gone after Sabrina. But still, he barely knew these ­people and he wasn’t entirely sure where their loyalties lay.

“Where’s Ramsey?”

He jerked at the feel of Emily’s hand on his arm.

She snatched her hand back and clasped her fingers together. “EXIT’s firewalls and compression algorithms are more intricate than we expected. Ramsey’s working with our computer expert to try to cover up the attempts we made to break into the mainframe.”