Page 79 of Merciless Protector

When I got off the plane in Salt Lake City, I went to meet the undercover agent. I’d been given the agent’s name, Mitch Scranton, which didn’t say much. I assumed it was a false name. The only other thing I’d been given was the car make and model and license plate number. I was to meet them at the arrivals pickup at a certain time.

Lots of things ran through my head as I waddled forward, having spotted the car. My feet moved faster as I saw a mop of brown hair. With only a carry-on, I yanked the passenger side door open and dipped down to see this Mitch. All the hope I’d carried for the past week died. It wasn’t Shawn.

“Do you need help?” Mitch asked as I stared at him.

I shook my head and straightened. I opened the back door of the sedan and put my carry-on in. There wasn’t much in there. This was a one or two-day op. My doctor had given me clearance to fly as long as I stopped flying before thirty-six weeks. I got in the front passenger seat and stared straight ahead.

Mitch pulled into traffic and went over the plan as we drove over an hour out of town. We passed by plenty of farmland. Mitch explained the place where we’d go in the morning was surrounded by wheat fields. They were tall and the only cover FBI teams would have when infiltrating the place.

We pulled off the highway and drove a couple of blocks to a low-end motel. There weren’t many cars in the lot and he pulled right in front of a bank of doors. He got out before I did and got my carry-on for me. I might have considered his chivalrous action if I hadn’t wished I was home. I’d accepted this assignment with the deranged idea that Shawn would be here.

Mitch opened the door and held it open for me. I stepped inside the room and was assaulted by a faint, musty odor, but I was grateful there were two beds. I took two more steps in when everything changed.

A grunt sounded, and I turned in time to move out of the way as a fight between Mitch and a masked intruder ensued. My movement left me unsteady, and I fell back and landed with a bounce on the first bed. My rounded belly did not help me put my training into action. I rolled to get to my feet, but it was over before I stood.

The intruder was on me in that second. A bag was pulled over my head and my hands were secured in zip ties faster than I could blink. I tried to make it harder for the person to move me, but I was scooped up. Thrashing my legs didn’t stop me from being removed from the motel room. Next thing I knew, I was placed in a chair and my feet were secured as well. Kicking hadn’t helped.

I didn’t give up but stopped trying to rise. It was no use, and I was wasting energy. I told myself if I hadn’t been so pregnant, I would have made it out of the situation. None of that mattered. Instead, I used my other senses, specifically hearing, to gauge where I was.

A door opened from a distance, so I was likely in the back of a van of some sort. The engine started, and we were on our way.

“What do you want?” I asked, not caring if it was futile.

He didn’t answer. I assumed it was a he for how easily I’d been picked up. When the question didn’t work, I started counting time. If I had some idea of how far we traveled, it might give me an idea of where we’d end up. The car slowed about twenty minutes later. The door opened, but he didn’t come for me.

Shortly after, I heard muffled voices. I could make out some of the conversation.

“You have her?” I was pretty sure that was a female voice.

There was a metallic knock. Likely, my captor had indicated that I was inside. “—doctor here?”

I missed some of it. “—back soon.”

The door near me opened. I was dragged out as I fought. But bound as I was, there was nothing I could do.

“Honey, why don’t you make it easy on yourself? You can live or die. We don’t need you.”

I felt the muzzle of the gun at my back and stopped. There was no doubt they would kill me. The calmness of her voice made that perfectly clear.

She pulled off my hood right before I heard a car door slam. I turned to see the van driving off. Dirt covered the license plate, so I couldn’t memorize that.

“Now you can see there are no cars here. No phones or any electronics.” I doubted the latter. She or someone else had to have contact with whoever ran this operation. “And if you do fancy running off, there are hundreds of acres of farmland between you and anyone that cares. Plus”—she pointed to her right where a pen of dogs sat hungrily waiting—“we feed them just enough so they don’t starve. They’ll be happy for any meal. I bet if they caught you, they’d go for your belly first.” She made her point. “I’m going to free your legs. If you do anything, I won’t hesitate to shoot to kill.”

There were people working inside the compound to my left. It appeared as though they were building another structure. Women were working in a garden. None of them looked friendly.

I held still as she freed my legs. She left my hands bound as we made the jug handle farther into the compound. As we walked, I noticed that the women were dressed two ways. Some wore a long gray dress to the feet with overall straps over a white shirt. But the majority of the younger women wore a faded blue sack dress that was loose and unbelted and hung straight from the shoulders to cover the feet. There was significance in that difference I made a note of. The men were all dressed like modern-day pilgrims in simple trousers and shirts with suspenders.

We passed several ramshackle structures that passed for homes. We stopped at a two-story one about halfway in. A young girl in a sack dress was hanging clothing on the line. My guard, who hadn’t given me her name, called out to the girl. “Serenity, come here, girl.”

A pretty but awfully gaunt girl came over with a faded expression of someone who’d seen too much at a young age. “We have a new visitor who will be staying with you, your pa and your brothers.”

The girl tried to smile, but it was lost in an expression of worry.

“Finish hanging those clothes and come upstairs.” I was pushed in the direction of the door that looked like a strong wind could blow it off its hinges. It squeaked when it opened, and I had a sinking feeling it was kept that way for a reason.

We entered a great room that housed handmade furniture for living and dining areas. I couldn’t make out a kitchen. The woman gave me a little push toward stairs that looked a little more like a ladder placed at a forty-five-degree angle with open risers between each step. The way it squeaked, I feared it would fall under our combined weight, but we made it to the top.

Upstairs, I made out three doorways before I was herded toward one on the far right. A peek in the room next to it revealed a bed. Not so much for the one I was pushed into. There was a mattress on the floor against the far wall. And a chair was in the corner opposite. But what I noticed was the chain bolted to the floor in the center of the room.

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