Page 1 of The Pilot & the Athlete

Chapter

One

Shay Cannon slicedthrough the water, moving far too fast for this miniscule twenty-by-thirty-foot pool. She reached the wall and flip-turned but didn’t kick off the wall. If she did, she’d be to the other side of the pool with only a few strokes.

She appreciated the witness protection program relocating her to a home in Phoenix with a pool. Even if the water temperature was nearly a hundred degrees and she had to do constant turns and swim in the middle of the night with no lights on. She’d take what she could get.

It was torturous enough that she’d been forced to choose survival over her Olympic dreams. At twenty-eight, it was doubtful she’d get another opportunity. In eight-hundred-meter freestyle, she was only slightly above the average age. In her other events, she was an old woman. Most Olympic female swimmers were between twenty to twenty-one. Over thirty was a rarity in her sport. She’d missed the Tokyo Olympics becauseof a rotator cuff injury and surgery. Her Olympic dreams were as shredded as her life.

Watching her friends and teammates compete the past few weeks had been incredible, and its own form of torture. She should’ve been with them. But she couldn’t dwell on that or how she missed her parents, older brother, and her students, or her tears would mix with the water.

Thank you for this small body of water, she prayed for the dozenth time. To be landlocked completely would’ve smashed her.

Reaching the wall for the hundred and sixty-eighth time tonight, she twisted to turn. Strong hands wrapped around each of her arms and she was ripped out of the water and into the warm night air.

“Bruh!” she cried out, laughing. “No shot!” She squinted through the near blackness and her goggles at the smart-aleck FBI agents playing yet another prank on her. She’d never admit it to them, but the pranks made the days more bearable and she always tried to return the favor.

“No!” she screamed as she realized … her buddies would have a hard time lifting her this easily and these tanks wearing dark clothing and black hoods over their faces were definitely not Agents Turner or Meacham. Her stomach did a flip-turn faster than even she could accomplish in the pool. “No!”

She was yanked against one of the men’s chests and a hand clamped firmly over her mouth before she could holler like a banshee for help or put up any kind of fight.

Not that screaming or fighting would do much good. If these silent, beastly men had gotten past the two FBI agents guarding her and through all the security this small house had, they had to be working for Big T. She would be dead soon.

Panting for air against the hand cutting off her oxygen supply, her body was covered in pinpricks that had nothing to do with the pool water drying quickly on her skin in the hot, dry air.

One man kept his hand over her mouth and wrapped his other arm securely over her chest. She kicked at the other man and dug her fingernails into her first captor. Shay was Olympic swimmer strong and not light, and she fought with all she had. The second man was shoved back and almost lost his footing and went in the pool.

“A strong one, eh?” the first guy asked.

The second man hurled himself at her, grabbing her around the waist while the first man held onto her mouth and shoulder. A third man hurried out of the open sliding glass door, captured and grasped her legs so tightly she could hardly wiggle her toes.

Shay squirmed between these huge brutes like a desperate worm, still gouging with her fingernails as she tried to cry for help, but not even a squeak escaped. The man didn’t even seem bothered by the scratches she left on his arms. Even with her wet skin and battling with every ounce of strength she had, their grip didn’t slacken or slip.

Please help me, she begged heaven above, but she heard only silence from heaven and from her captors.

Her heart raced out of control as the three brutes silently carried her across the back patio and into the house. A wave of cool air washed over her. She shivered violently as she bucked her body more violently, fighting to get free. Nothing helped.

Another dark-clad man waited in the living area. He gestured with his head, and she was carried to the garage. None of them spoke. Their silence was as disturbing as the compromised safehouse. The black masks and clothing they wore andtheir silence made them feel inhuman, like monstrosities, freaks, sus characters for real.

Where were Turner and Meacham? Had her buddies fought to protect her and been overwhelmed? Their throats sliced open like the woman she’d seen murdered?

Please, please don’t let Turner and Meacham be dead.

She didn’t want to know the truth, didn’t want to admit it. Her agents who had teased her like brothers and stayed by her side through this awful ordeal had likely been murdered so these men could capture her.

The fourth man held the door leading into the garage and she was hustled through. They went out a side door and a large black SUV waited on the small concrete driveway. She was shoved into the middle seat, leather ripping at the bare skin on the back of her thighs.

One captor released her mouth and yanked off her cap and goggles, dropping them on the floor of the SUV.

“Help! Help!” she screamed, almost shoving past him before he manhandled her back into the middle seat and clapped his hand over her mouth again.

The fear made her pant for breath as the man’s large hand covered her nose and mouth. No cap, she could not get enough oxygen. She could hold her breath for three minutes and ten seconds. Her kiddos on the swim team she coached loved to test her on that. Right now, her lungs felt constricted and black spots appeared on the edge of her vision. She thrashed to free herself and accomplished some good punches and fingernail digs, but nothing that would free her.

Her two attackers sandwiched her between them in the back bench seat. The other two men climbed up front. Doors shut and the man finally released her mouth. She drew in preciousoxygen and then screamed on instinct, trying to get past the man on her left and back out the door. He violently pushed her back.

“You can scream all you want, beautiful. Nobody is coming to your rescue,” the man said.

She knew he was right, but kept hollering, “Help!” anyway. It was the only thing she could do, some kind of release from the horror. She clawed at the man on her left, who already had deep grooves in his arm, pinpricks of blood surfacing in the cuts from her nails. He grasped her hands tightly, unfazed. Did the monster not feel pain?

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