Page 52 of Allie's Shelter

He’d told her to pick a spot and hang out, to get reacquainted with Ruth’s staff and the regulars, but he’d bet anything by the time he returned from his run to Columbia, she’d be pitching in one way or another.

Allie didn’t have it in her to sit by and let others do. She’d always been that way. A hands-on, get-things-done sort of person. Not that he wasn’t much the same, but growing up, his help had often been undervalued because no one trusted his good-for-nothing dad. Until Allie had trusted Ross with her unconditional friendship.

Growing up, the more time they spent together, the more respect the town gave him. He might not have liked the status quo, and he’d often resented that a lousy address could so severely limit a person’s options, but none of that was Allie’s fault.

Without her, life would have been hell and his future equally bleak.

The new phone Eva had brought him last night sounded off with a Scooby Doo ring tone. The woman would drive him to drink on the job yet. He ought to dock her pay, he thought as he answered. “Carpenter.”

“I’d like a refund, Mr. Carpenter.”

Roberts.

“I only give refunds to living clients.”

“Oh, I’m alive and well and fully capable of making you pay. You know, it’s a lovely sweater our girl is wearing today. I always admired her fashion sense.”

Ross experienced his first moment of outright panic during an operation. He’d never had anyone to go home to, no one at home worrying for his safe return. The vulnerability was new, but it was his job to mitigate the effect and complete the assigned task. His training kicked in and he steeled himself against Roberts’s attempt to rattle him.

All calls to the office were recorded for the team’s protection. While they weren’t set up to trace the call, Eva might hear something in the background that would give them a lead on Roberts’ location. The man was obviously in Haleswood, they just had to draw him out.

“You can’t touch her. You wouldn’t dare touch her.”

“What a rich fantasy life you enjoy, Mr. Carpenter. Give me the files and the two of you can live happily ever after in Hickville.”

“Haleswood,” Ross growled, not sure why it suddenly mattered so much.

“There’s a difference? I don’t know what kind of sob story she gave you, but spinning is her job. She’s very good at guiding people toward what she wants them to think and feel. You were hired to recover stolen data. Can you deliver or will I be forced to implement plan B?”

“Forced. As if.” Ross tried to sound worried and discovered it was remarkably easy when it was real. “I know where your data is and I know she’s planning on taking it to the FBI.” He knew Roberts wouldn’t respect anything resembling integrity. Time for the extortion. “I’m on my way to Columbia to set up the meeting. I suggest you make for the Caymans.”

“If that drive finds its way to the FBI, I will kill you both.”

“You might have better luck if you fake our deaths too. Insurance fraud is a long shot when the perp is smart enough to actually leave. In your case…” he let the implied insult go unsaid.

“To quote your kin,” Roberts said with a mocking Southern drawl, “that dog won’t hunt. Convince that conniving bitch to talk with me, or order your tombstone. You have twenty-four hours.”

The line went dead and Ross made sure the call was disconnected before he swore. His hands were shaking and he felt sweat gathering between his shoulder blades. Feeling this defenseless was completely intolerable.

He flexed his hands around the steering wheel, waiting for the calm, calculating logic he relied on to kick in. It required more than one deep breath and more than a few affirmations about the viability of the plan. First, Allie was safe in the Midnight Rooster with the regulars coming and going all day. No one there would give Roberts a clear shot at her. And second, the plan he and Eva had outlined was working.

Roberts was aggravated and on a hard timeline, though Ross wished he’d been able to draw out the cause of that. He had his suspicions, but he’d wait for Eva’s assessment before he made any adjustments. That’s why they’d formed the team, to help others with challenging problems. He told clients he’d created the team to be a reasonable influence in unreasonable situations. The bedrock of Cypress Security was letting cooler heads prevail when someone had too much invested in a problem.

He’d never imagined he’d be the one with too much invested and too much to lose.

By the time Ross parked in front of the building that was home to the local FBI office, he had the requisite ice flowing in his veins again. His running shoes squeaked on the polished marble floor as he crossed the lobby to the bank of elevators.

He punched the button and waited, not surprised to see the car was occupied by his contact, Dale Nichols. “A personal escort is a thoughtful touch,” Ross said over a hand shake when they were alone in the elevator.

“With you, it’s more of a safety protocol,” Dale muttered.

“Hey, all my permits are up to date.”

“Uh-huh.”

It was a friendly ritual, one they didn’t share often enough since Dale had been wounded in combat and forced out of their unit. “Is the girl here?”

The elevator doors opened, and Dale led the way, bypassing a receptionist desk and taking the first left. “First, tell me about your charge. Ms. Williams, right?”

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