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A loud knock sounded through the room, and Joanna’s voice could be heard on the other side of the door, panicked and insistent.
“Tyler, can I come in? There’s something you should see urgently.”
He opened the door, and Joanna stood before him, wearing the same clothes she had yesterday: neon yellow jeans, white sneakers and a purple hooded sweatshirt. She would stand out like a sore thumb in any crowd. They would need to buy her some new clothes today.
“What is it?” he asked as she came rushing into the room, picking up the remote control for the television from the nightstand.
“This,” she said, flicking on the TV and turning to a local news station.
On the screen he saw his own face next to Joanna’s, above the words fugitive cops on the run. He took the remote from her hands and turned up the sound, listening in horror to the newscaster’s report: “The sheriff of Yardley County, Missouri, Tyler Beck, is believed to be harboring a wanted felon somewhere in the region, and citizens are being asked to remain vigilant. Deputy Joanna Graham, a former biochemist and Harvard graduate, is wanted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation for alleged drug offenses committed while working undercover for the Southern Missouri Drug Task Force. Both Deputy Graham and Sheriff Beck vanished last night and are now on the run, possibly crossing a state border to evade detection. The Godspeed police chief, George Crenshaw, made this statement about the matter late last night...”
The picture then cut to Chief Crenshaw, standing outside his station, surrounded by reporters shining lights on his face. By his side was the mayor, his lips pinched into a thin smile.
The chief read from a piece of paper in his hand: “‘Sheriff Beck suffered a severe blow to the head yesterday while responding to an emergency call, and doctors believe that this injury has seriously affected his memory. The sheriff’s actions are entirely out of character, and it’s likely that his head injury is to blame. Tyler Beck and I are friends and equals, and I’m not judging him for trying to help his deputy. But I’m appealing to him directly to contact the nearest law-enforcement unit and turn himself in.’” Chief Crenshaw looked straight into the camera, his dark eyes narrowing in seriousness. “Tyler, if you’re watching this, please do the right thing. You know it makes sense.”
As the clip ended, the anchor shook her coiffured head in disapproval and said, “What is the world coming to when you can’t trust your local sheriff’s department to uphold the law? These two could possibly be somewhere in the state of Arkansas, so keep a lookout, folks, and if you spot them, do not approach them. Instead call 9-1-1 right away. But don’t let this news stop you from enjoying the Christmas holidays. Go out and continue your shopping, but be vigilant. Stay safe.”
Tyler let out a long breath, as if he had been winded. He never expected this amount of publicity. He knew that Chief Crenshaw would be annoyed at being duped, but to place Joanna in further danger like this was just plain irresponsible. Crenshaw had now totally exposed her as an undercover officer. If any members of The Scorpions didn’t already know her status as a sheriff’s deputy, they would now, and they might decide to exact their own vengeance.
“Do you think the guy who checked us into the motel last night will call the police?” Joanna asked.
“It was late, dark and he was only a teenager, more interested in playing his computer game than looking at our faces.” Tyler wasn’t totally convinced of this, but he hoped it was true. “We should hit the road anyway, just in case.”
Joanna raked her hands through her long, dark hair. She had removed the tiny braids she had worn the previous day, and the strands were now slightly crinkled yet still lustrous and shiny, falling like silk over her shoulders. Something stirred in his memory: a flicker of recollection. He knew how her hair smelled and how it felt beneath his touch.
“Where can we go?” she asked. “Our faces are splashed all over the news.”
Tyler pulled the photograph from his pocket. The five other men in this picture were as good as family to him, and he would trust each of them with his life. With one of them now dead, this left four people to whom he could reach out for help. He knew each of their cell phone numbers by heart, but he had lost seven years. Would they have moved on without his knowing? Would they still have the bonds of friendship they once did?
He took out his cell phone. “I’m gonna make a call. Don’t go anywhere,” he said walking into the bathroom, closing the door and sitting on the edge of the tub. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable making this call in front of Joanna. He figured he could almost certainly trust her, but there was still a tiny seed of suspicion, a niggling doubt that she was holding back somehow. When he had asked her to be completely honest with him, he had sensed her reticence and suspected that she was holding something back. Despite her apparent openness, there was something aloof about her, a part that she kept hidden. He pondered whether this was the reason for their breakup. One character trait he would not tolerate was an inclination to lie. Joanna had not fully passed his test. Not yet.
He punched in the number of Dillon Randall, a close friend and colleague who had served alongside him on at least three missions that he could remember. A recorded message told him that the number had been disconnected. He tried the other three numbers and got the same result. The data in his head must be old and out of date.
He clicked his tongue in exasperation, feeling the time ticking by. He should take Joanna away from this place and get her somewhere safer, but without a plan, he could simply make things worse by moving her out in the open.
He turned over the photograph in his hands, thinking hard, and caught sight of a scrawled number on the back. His heart lifted. It was his own writing, and above the number was one single word: Blade. What did this mean? Whose number was it? Given that his options were limited, he decided to give it a try.
When the phone was answered Tyler recognized his old friend Edward Harding’s voice instantly, his laid back, relaxed style of talking making his hello sound like the word yellow.
“Hi,” he said quickly. “It’s Tyler.”
Ed’s tone instantly changed to a sociable one. “Hey, Sheriff. How is everything in Yardley County?”
“Listen, Ed,” Tyler began. “I need help.”
Ed remained silent for a few seconds before answering. “Everything okay, Tyler? Nobody’s called me by the name Ed in a long time.”
“What do you mean?” Tyler asked, confused. “Did you change your name?”
“Um, not exactly,” Ed replied with a note of concern. “But since I lost my leg, my buddies all call me Blade, remember?”
“What!” Tyler exclaimed. How could he have forgotten something like this? “You lost a leg?”
“Yeah, right after Dark Skies. What’s going on, Tyler? What happened to you?”
Tyler stared down at the photograph, now understanding why he had written the word Blade above the number. “I somehow lost the last seven years of my life,” he said. “And now I’m on the run from the police, trying to protect a deputy who’s been wrongly accused of a crime, and my face is all over the local news.”
Ed obviously took a little while to let this information sink in. “I’m not even gonna ask how this happened,” he said finally. “Because I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of time. You need somewhere to hole up, right?”
“Right.”
“Where are you?”
“Northern Arkansas.”
“Are you close to Millington, Tennessee?”
Tyler pictured a map of the area in his mind. “Yeah, it’s only a couple of hours away. There’s a naval base there.”
“That’s right. The navy sometimes uses the base for top-secret training, and they own a log cabin in the Meeman-Shelby Forest State Park for secret personnel to stay away from prying eyes. I went there once before I was medically discharged—”
Tyler cut him off. “You’re not a SEAL anymore?”
“Tyler,” Ed replied with a low laugh, “I just told you that I only have one leg.”
In spite of his situation, Tyler laughed, too. “I’m sorry, Ed, this is a lot to take in.”
“I might need to call in a favor or two to gain access to the cabin. I’ll contact Dillon. He transferred into the coast guard a little while back, but he’s a lieutenant now, and he’ll be able to pull a few strings.”
Tyler felt a swell of gratitude in his chest. “I realize I’m asking you to take a big risk.”
Ed came back quickly with the words of a SEAL motto. “He who is not courageous enough to take risks...”
Tyler finished the sentence: “Will accomplish nothing in life.”
“Exactly, my friend. Go to the state park and keep your cell phone on. I’m in North Carolina, so it’ll take me nine or ten hours to reach you by car, but I’ll get there.”
The faint sounds of a police siren drifted into the bathroom. Tyler inhaled sharply. Had the sullen teenager at the reception desk recognized them after all?
“I gotta go,” he said. “I hear sirens.”
If any gang members listened to police scanners, it could mean that Crusher might not be far behind.
“Go,” Ed said firmly. “But remember—Audentes Fortuna Iuvat.”
Tyler translated the Latin phrase that his SEAL team would often recite before missions: “Fortune favors the brave.”
He ended the call, flung open the bathroom door and picked up his motorcycle key from the dresser, ready to jump into action. Tyler may have lost a significant portion of his life, but he most definitely remembered how to be brave.
THREE (#u318495f3-b407-5973-b5da-957e08350915)
A flutter rose in Joanna’s chest as she realized that she and Tyler were trapped. Two police vehicles had screeched to a halt outside the motel, and four armed officers stood by the cars while the skinny teenager from the front desk pointed up to their rooms on the second floor.
“They’re here for us,” she said, feeling her heart begin to pound, galvanizing her into action. “They’re coming up the stairs.”
Tyler grabbed her arm and led her into the bathroom. “I already anticipated this, so I parked the motorcycle around back late last night and hid the helmets in the bushes.”
Before Joanna knew what was happening, he had lifted her up and was pushing her through the bathroom window onto the fire escape. The metal was covered with a white frost, glinting in the winter sun. The two black bags containing their weapons and Tyler’s personal items were pushed through next. They thudded on the metal landing, closely followed by Tyler himself. He yanked the overhead fire escape ladder and pulled hard, sending it sliding to the ground in a whooshing movement.
“You first,” he said, directing her to place her feet on the ladder while he threw the bags onto the grass below. “Don’t panic but move fast. I’ll be just behind you.”
Joanna felt her feet slip on the rungs in her sneakers. These shoes weren’t made to be functional; they were made to look fashionable, and the grip was useless, particularly on the slippery metal.
“Stay calm,” Tyler urged, seeing her stumble and hold tight with freezing fingers onto the sides of the ladder. “I’m right here.”
“I’m plenty calm,” she muttered, feeling a little irritated. “I’m doing fine.”
Why did her sheriff never seem to see her as strong and capable? No matter how hard she tried, he always assumed she would mess up. He sometimes infuriated her.
Up above their heads, she heard loud knocks on the door of their motel room, followed by the words, “Open up. This is the police.”
Joanna reached the last rung of the ladder and dropped to the hardened ground as gracefully as a cat. Then she pulled her weapon from its holster and began to scan the area, searching for any hostiles. She found none, yet she felt the familiar tingle of excitement in her belly that only came from confronting danger head-on. It filled her up. It occupied those parts that were empty and hollow.
It was only when Tyler’s voice broke through her thoughts that she realized she had been lost in her own world, tensed up, ready to tackle imminent threats.
“Joanna,” he called from the motorcycle, holding a helmet in his hand. “Put this on and let’s go.” He glanced upward and she did the same, seeing the face of a police officer peering out the open bathroom window.
“Stop right there!” the officer yelled. “You’re under arrest.”
Tyler started up the motorcycle and flicked the kickstand with his foot. Joanna had no time to secure the fastenings of the helmet. She flung the straps of a bag around her shoulders and sprang onto the pillion. Tyler accelerated so fast that she almost lost her balance with the thrusting power of the engine. She was forced to grip his waist tightly as he took the motorcycle over the frost-tipped grass and onto the parking lot. The tires squealed loudly, as Tyler changed direction quickly to take them out onto the highway, heading northeast, back toward the Missouri border. She felt exhilarated, with the wind rushing through her open visor and the sound of the engine rumbling beneath the tires. They had escaped.
She glanced behind to see the officers scrambling to get into their vehicles and pursue, but their patrol cars were no match for the speed of Tyler’s powerful motorcycle. Within seconds, the cruisers were little more than dots in the distance, red and blue lights flashing in the early-morning haze. Yet the officers would be calling for backup. More would come. She hoped that Tyler had a plan because heading for the Missouri border probably wasn’t in their best interest.
Tyler clearly did have a plan, as no sooner had the thought entered her mind than he switched direction, exiting the highway and taking them onto a back road. They were now on an eastward path, leading to Tennessee. She watched the greenery whizz by in a blur of color, allowing her senses to calm once more. Being in close physical proximity to danger was the only way she could feel part of the human race. It seemed to be the only way she could feel much of anything.
As soon as the opportunity arose, Tyler pulled into a deserted rest area and guided the motorcycle to a secluded spot behind a bathroom block. He cut the engine and she took off her helmet, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Her face was numb.
“Wow, that was exciting,” she said. “What a rush.”
Tyler slid his helmet from his head, his sandy hair bouncing with the movement. His face was angry. “No, that was not a rush,” he said forcefully. “It was a really close call, and you need to start paying better attention to your surroundings. You’re way too careless.”
She rolled her eyes. She had heard this speech many times from Tyler: she was too careless, reckless, irresponsible and a whole bunch of other adjectives that were variations on the same theme.
“What did I do this time?” she asked. “Did I fail to lace up my sneakers with a safe and secure double knot?” She knew she was being childish, but Tyler often hit a nerve.
He pointed down the quiet road. “Crusher was there at the motel.”
Joanna flung a hand up to her face. “What? Crusher? Where?”
“He was in a car in the parking lot, just sitting there, watching.”
She felt sure she had scanned the area thoroughly. “Are you sure? I took a good look around.”
“No, you didn’t,” Tyler said, raising his voice. “You think you were on your guard, but in reality, you were unfocused and sloppy. At one point I actually thought you were enjoying the dangerous situation.”
Joanna shrugged. “I wasn’t enjoying it,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself. “But neither was I scared. I thought bravery was a good attribute to have.”
“Being brave is not about being gung ho,” Tyler said, speaking quietly and slowly, as if trying to contain his irritation. “It’s about being able to defend yourself properly. Crusher was right there in front of us, and you didn’t see him because you were caught up in the moment. He could have fired on you or pursued us or tried to run us down.”
“But he didn’t,” she argued.
“And that’s probably because there were two police cars sitting only yards away from him.” She could see Tyler’s frustration bubbling. “We were fortunate this time. Crusher has no idea what direction we took from the highway. You should always remember that bravery is not the same as recklessness.”
She smiled.
“Did I say something funny?” Tyler asked, crossing his arms.
“You said those exact same words to me seven months ago,” she replied. “Right before I went undercover with The Scorpions. You didn’t want me to take the job. You said I wasn’t ready for an assignment like that.” His lack of belief in her abilities still hurt deeply. “You tried to persuade me to wait until I’d undergone more intensive training before agreeing to any undercover work.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I can see why I would say that.”
She crossed her arms, mirroring his defensive stance. They were going over old ground, yet for Tyler it was brand-new.
“Your objections to my assignment were vetoed by the Southern Missouri Drug Task Force,” she said defiantly. “And I did a good job of being an undercover officer, no matter how little faith you have in me.”
He sighed, no doubt guessing he had perhaps come down a little hard on her. “I’m sorry. You put yourself in the line of fire on a very important assignment, and you deserve far more than criticism. Well done, Deputy Graham. I’m proud of you, despite my objections to your style of working.”
She tried so hard not to smile, but it was impossible. Praise from Sheriff Beck was hard to earn, and she basked in its warm glow.
“Thank you, Tyler. I appreciate you saying that.”
He checked his watch. “We’re heading into Tennessee where a buddy of mine is going to meet us and help us out. If we avoid the interstate and major highways, we should be okay, but please try to stay alert. If you see anything, and I mean anything, that concerns you, tap me on the shoulder, okay?”
Joanna placed a hand over her rumbling stomach. She was famished. “Okay.”
“I’ll stop along the way to get us some food,” he said. “But let me do the talking. I don’t want you mess...” He stopped. “Just let me do the talking.”
She slid her helmet over her head, knowing the exact content of Tyler’s unfinished sentence. The scant praise from Sheriff Beck was short-lived. He had placed himself in charge again, and she was back to being the wild card.
* * *
The log cabin in the Meeman-Shelby Forest State Park was perfect, set in beautiful dense woodland, far from any neighboring properties. The forest was spectacular, with a mixture of oaks, American beech, hickory and sweet gum. At any other time, Tyler would be incredibly excited to explore their temporary new environment. But this wasn’t a vacation. This was a hideaway.
Tyler pushed his motorcycle inside the garage around back. Joanna watched him with steely eyes, sipping from a bottle of water they’d picked up from a large store in the town of Millington, along with some food provisions and ladies’ clothes. Joanna had discarded her neon pants and bright purple sweatshirt and chosen some blue jeans and warm sweaters that would allow her to blend in better. The store in Millington had been full of Christmas shoppers with laden carts, perusing the aisles to the sound of festive songs. The children lining up to meet Santa added to the noisy excitement in the air. Tyler and Joanna must have looked like any regular couple, doing last-minute shopping, and, for a little while, he wished it were true. Spending Christmas in the bosom of your own family was a blessing that many failed to appreciate. Since his grandmother had died, the holidays were mainly lonely and painful, at least those he could recollect. Yet with Joanna by his side, the pain eased a little. The pretense of being a happy couple at Christmas was too much to resist.
His forced his thoughts to return to their immediate situation. He had already scouted out the cabin and the surrounding area, leaving him satisfied that this was the safest place they could possibly be. His earlier heated exchange with Joanna had given him a better understanding of why their relationship hadn’t worked out. She truly was hotheaded and impetuous, whereas he was meticulous and measured. He smiled to himself, imagining how she must have driven him crazy—how she still drove him crazy. Yet a lingering feeling of affection for her remained, and he knew that she must have gotten under his skin.
Joanna had said very little while shopping, only asking questions after he had taken a call from Ed, informing them that the cabin had been opened up by a naval officer and was ready for them to inhabit. Their Dark Skies buddy, Dillon Randall, had arranged for the property to be at their disposal until it was required by navy personnel, which wouldn’t be for a good while yet. Tyler was beyond grateful. He closed his eyes and said a brief thank you to God for providing them with avenues of help at every turn.
