Alpha One (Shadow Agents #1)(36)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Gunner nodded. Right. What else was a gentleman supposed to do?

After taking a deep breath, she made her way to the nearest ladies’ room. Susan checked, making sure that no one else was around. Then her glance darted around the small room…and landed on the window to the right.

Time to vanish.

* * *

“WHERE’S SUSAN?” Logan demanded as he headed toward Gunner.

The agent jerked his thumb toward the restroom.

Eyes narrowed, Logan immediately headed toward the ladies’ room door.

“What are you doing?” Juliana grabbed his arm. “You can’t go in there!”

Watch me. He knew that Susan was trying to drive a wedge between him and Juliana, and he also knew…

I don’t trust her.

So he knocked on the door, a hard, fast rap. “Susan! Come out! We need to talk.” Just not in front of Juliana. He glanced over his shoulder at Gunner. “Take Juliana to the car. I’ll be right behind you.”

Juliana was looking at him as if he was crazy.

And he heard no sound from inside the bathroom.

Hell. “Susan?” Another hard knock at the door.

No response. Not so much as a whisper of sound.

His instincts were screaming now. Logan shoved open the door. Scanned under the stalls.

Gone. And only an open window waited to the right.

He spun back around to face Gunner. “What did she say to you?”

Gunner was shaking his head. “Out the window. Who would have—”

“What did she say?” Logan demanded again. Juliana stood behind Gunner in the doorway. Her gaze was watchful. Wary.

“We talked about McLintock. I told her what happened—”

“She got scared,” Juliana broke in. “She must have run because she was afraid she’d be targeted, too.”

Maybe.

But he doubted it. There were plenty of reasons for people to run.

He yanked out his phone and had Syd on the line in an instant. “Susan Walker is gone,” he said. “We need to start searching the area for her, now.” The bright sunlight hit him when he stepped outside and began to sweep the lot.

“Her car’s gone,” Gunner said from beside him. The man’s voice was tight with anger.

The vehicle sure as hell was gone. Gunner had driven Susan’s vehicle to the press conference, but it looked like the lady had reclaimed her ride. “Get the cops to put out an APB on her,” Logan said. He wanted to talk to Susan, yesterday.

He glanced to the left and saw Juliana staring at him with her brows up. “It’s for her protection,” he said, the words half-true.

Half lie.

Susan was a dangerous woman—she knew the truth about him, and he was willing to bet she knew plenty of secrets about the senator.

If Guerrero got ahold of her, the man would make her spill those secrets, just like he’d done with McLintock.

* * *

SUSAN NEVER EVEN saw the man approaching. She was fumbling with her keys, trying to rush back inside her old apartment—good thing I kept the lease—when hard arms wrapped around her.

“Someone wants to see you.” She felt the blade bite into her waist.

A whimper rose in her throat. No, this couldn’t be happening. She had planned too well.

But then the guy yanked her away from the apartment. There were no neighbors to see her.

He shoved her into the trunk of a black car. She tried to scream for help, but there was no help. The car sped away quickly, knocking her around in the trunk, sending her rolling back and forth.

Susan shoved and kicked at the trunk. Her breath rasped out. It was so dark. Only one faint beam of light trickled into the trunk. Without that light, it would be as if she was in a tomb.

Buried alive.

Susan screamed as loud as she could. The car kept going.

“Help me! Help me! Somebody, please!” She’d hated the dark for years. Ever since her mother had gone away.

Susan had been six. Her mother had just…put her in the closet. “Be a good girl. Mommy has to leave for a while. And you…you have to be quiet until I get back.”

She’d put her in the closet, then never come back. Just…put me in the closet.

“Help!”

Her mother had been an addict. A whore. Social services had finally come to find Susan…because her mother had overdosed. They’d taken her out of that closet.

“Get me out!” Susan screamed as she kicked toward the back of the car.

She’d promised herself never to go back into the dark again. She’d fought for a better life. Clawed her way to that promise of wealth and privilege.

She couldn’t go out like this. Not in a trunk. Not cut up with a knife, like McLintock.

She should have more.

The car stopped. She rolled, banging her knees, still screaming for help.

Then she heard the voices. Footsteps coming toward her.

The trunk opened. Light spilled onto her. Susan stopped screaming.

And she started plotting.

I’m not dead yet. Her heart thundered in her ears.

Survive. That was all she had to do. Stay alive. Escape.

She just had to play the game right….

Chapter Nine

Juliana didn’t know why she went into her father’s room. Despite what Susan had said, Juliana didn’t expect any big revelations. She and her father—they hadn’t been close.

Not in years.

She stood in the doorway, feeling like an intruder as her gaze swept over the heavy furniture. The room was cold but opulent. Her father had always insisted on the best for himself.

He just hadn’t cared about giving that best to others.

Such a waste. Because when she tried hard enough, Juliana could almost remember a different man. One who’d smiled and held her hand as they walked past blooming azalea bushes.

She turned away, but from the corner of her eye, she saw…

My paintings.

Goose bumps rose on her arms, and she found herself fully entering his room. Crossing to the right wall, she stared at those images.

Storm Surge. The painting she’d done after the horror of the last storm had finally ended. On the canvas, the fury of the storm swept over the beach, bearing down like an angry god.

Eye of the Storm. The clouds were parted, showing a flicker of light, hope. The fake hope that came, because the storm wasn’t really over. Often, the worst part was just coming.

Her hand lifted and she traced the outline of her initials on the bottom left of the canvas. Her father…he’d told her that her art was a waste of time. He’d wanted her in law school, business school.

But he’d bought her art, framed it and hung it on his wall.