Page 66 of Be Courageous

“Ellis. Hello?”

Three years of loneliness, fear, and regret strangled McKenzie’s vocal cords. She clutched the receiver with both hands, pushing his name through her tight throat. “Miles.”

His mattress creaked. “Don’t hang up.” He sounded suddenly wide awake. “Please don’t hang up this time. You hear me, Angel?”

Angel.That was his special name for her since she used to minister to the homeless men at the shelter where they’d met. How quickly he’d recognized her voice!

“That’s it, now tell me what’s wrong.”

Where to start? “C-Centurions came for me again. This is the third time it’s happened.”

“What’s the program doing about it?”

“Nothing. I ran away. They’re not keeping me safe like they’re supposed to.”

“Where are you now?”

“In a motel room in?—”

“Don’t say it. All I need is the room number.”

“Um…” It took her a moment to remember. “314.”

“Got it. Now, don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Wait, h-how will you find me?” Panic made her heart race. “When will you get here?” What if she never heard from him again?

“Soon, Angel. Believe me, I could find you anywhere.”

His answer assured her that there was no Mrs. Miles Ellis lying in bed next to him.Thank goodness. Miles was going to rescue her, just like he had three years ago when she’d been faced with an arranged marriage to her father’s friend Ashton.

“I’ll be here,” she promised.

Her only answer was a beep as he ended their call.

CHAPTER2

Miles forced himself to hang up. God knew he didn’t want to. McKenzie’s voice was manna to his hungry heart, and she so clearly needed him to stay on the line with her.

But he couldn’t risk the off-chance that the Centurion Cohort was listening to his calls—not that he could see how. His cell phone had been issued by the FBI. Uncle Sam had deemed it secure and untraceable. On the other hand, his affection for Jared Jones’s daughter had been no secret to the Centurion leader, now deceased. If Centurions thought McKenzie might contact him someday, they’d keep tabs on him for as long as it took to avenge Jared.

Miles should never have given her his phone number. But love couldn’t bear separation and, luckily, she’d only called him twice—at least, he’d assumed it was her by the aching silence that had echoed his greeting.

This last call had been from Myrtle Beach. Opening a special app on his cell phone, he was able to pinpoint the exact location of the Hilton Garden Inn where she was hiding.

Miles leapt out of his bed, located in the basement apartment of his mother’s home. He’d moved back in after his parents had split because he didn’t want his mother living alone in the home he’d grown up in, located a stone’s throw away from the nation’s capital in Arlington, Virginia. Stripping off his sleep pants on his way to the bathroom, he then jumped into the shower while replaying McKenzie’s words in his head.

How could the Cohort have found her in the first place, let alonethreetimes? WITSEC had a flawless record. No one in their protection hadeverbeen targeted—until now. Obviously, something was amiss with the program. Could it be the man who’d been protecting Jared Jones from within the Bureau had access to the U.S. Marshal’s database? Was The Architect, as he was called, truly that powerful?

As he toweled off, Miles pondered the fastest way to reach his rescue target. Driving to Myrtle Beach from Northern Virginia would take about nine hours. A commercial flight, with all the hassles of airport security checks, would consume at least five. McKenzie needed himnow.

Dang it, he would have to ask his father for help. Drake Ellis was, in many ways, Miles’s boss. He was also the section chief of White-Collar Crimes and reported directly to the executive assistant director of the CID. It was bad enough Miles had to answer to a father who’d walked out on his mother two years ago, after twenty-seven years of marriage. Asking his father for a favor was the last thing Miles wanted to do, but Dad had a pilot’s license and his own small aircraft, two things Miles desperately needed.

Swallowing his pride, he dialed his father’s number and set his cell phone on his dresser in speaker mode while starting to dress.

Drake answered on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

Clearly there had to be a calamity for Miles to call his father—sad, but so true. “I need a favor.” He strapped his gun holster to his calf and reached for his jeans.

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