Page 6 of Shadowed Agenda

Regan knew Isla would regret lashing out at her in the hotel suite. They could both bepigheaded. It wasn’t the first time they’d disagreed about something.

This time, her friend’s lack of support hurt her deeply. If anyone would understand why Regan would refuse to support a man who regarded women as an accessory, it should have been Isla. She knew how Nicholas had treated her.

They’d work out this disagreement as they had in the past. Maybe. The event seemed nonnegotiable. Isla was always creative in finding a way around a problem, but Regan didn’t think Isla was prepared to think outside the box for this one. Why was the private book signing so important?

Regan slowed and glanced at her cell phone, checking where she was on the map. A bundled-up homeless man scurried toward her. She stopped.

“There’s a little boy further along the path. He needs help,” he croaked, pointing beyond the graceful bend in the path. Three coats covered his body, and sweat dripped down his brow from running in August’s blistering sun. His sunglasses were at odds with the black watch cap.

Regan nodded and ran full out. She could hear the man follow her. The foliage on either side of the path thickened just beyond the bend, and old trees reached high into the sky. The trees’ shadows crisscrossed the pavement. The child sat at the side of the path just ahead, arms wrapped around his legs and forehead resting on his knees.

A runner coming from the opposite direction veered toward the boy. He must have spotted the child.

Good. More help.

Regan stopped and crouched beside the boy. She figured he was around nine or ten years old. “Are you alright?”

He said nothing. A hand wrapped around Regan’s arm and pulled her to her feet. It was the homeless man. The boy stood.

“Good job,” the man said, smiling, his teeth white and even. He held out a twenty-dollar bill in his other hand. The child snatched it and sped down the running path from the direction Regan had come.

She’d been set up.

Regan turned to the runner who’d been approaching from the other direction. Her cry for help caught in her throat. He walked toward her, a malevolent grin spread across his face. The two of them were partners.

Her eyes darted to the running path. There wasn’t a runner in sight in either direction.

Her dad had lectured her about not running alone in Central Park. She’d shrugged off his comment, explaining the park was always crowded with people and that she’d never be alone. Regan should have listened to him. There was not a soul in sight.

The two men had blocked her in. Regan glanced at the trees behind her. The ground was tramped down, forming a narrow trail through the trees and bushes, barely visible from the paved path. She’d read that people created informal shortcuts throughout the park. This path looked like one of them. The trail was too closed in for adults to walk comfortably. It must have been kids. The path could lead to a more secluded area, but it was her only hope of escaping the two men. There was no other option.

Regan had taken a self-defense course over a year ago. She’d been bored with the constant repetition of the handful of moves they’d learned, but now she was grateful. She could still see every move clearly in her mind.

Regan drew back her free arm and swept her palm upward, connecting with the homeless guy’s nose. An ugly crunching sound shattered the peaceful surroundings.

The man howled in pain and loosened his grip. Regan yanked free of his grasp. She darted into the trees and shrubs to her left, ducking and dodging branches. The underbrush tangled and grabbed at her, slowing her down.

The two men crashed through the bushes, cursing loudly.

Think, Regan. Think.

The path she’d been on circled the park. If she kept heading straight, she should reach the park’s perimeter, separated from the city sidewalk by low cast iron and stone fences. Once on the city sidewalk, she’d be surrounded by pedestrians. Best-case scenario, she’d find herself on one of the popular walking paths. Surely, the two men wouldn’t risk being seen by the people in the park.

Regan glanced over her shoulder. They were only a few yards behind her.

The surrounding trees and brush thinned as a clump of evergreens came into view. Regan could make out a line of grass beyond the trees. She smiled and picked up speed.

Mistake.

She stumbled on the uneven ground, pitted with roots, and fell. Her cell phone flew out of her hand.

One man grabbed her arm and yanked her to her knees. He gripped her ponytail in his fist, yanking it upward and forcing her to look at the ground. It was as effective as wearing a balaclava. Regan wouldn’t be able to identify either man. She had been focused on helping the boy, so she only gave them a casual glance when she spotted him further down the path. The homeless guy’s disguise had been perfect.

“Listen, bitch.” The man’s stale breath hissed in her ear. “We don’t take kindly to anyone messing with the Senator’s wife.”

“The publishing company changed my schedule,” Regan lied, unable to stop the tremor in her voice. She hated sounding weak in front of a bully.

“Unchange it,” he said.

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