Page 43 of Three Steps Behind

She held, waiting for Dalton’s car to follow, but nothing. She took a deep inhale.

Calm yourself. You can do this. Think. How would Mom get out of this?

She studied her surroundings. A tree stood to her left, its branches thick and wide.

Gotcha.

Moving in a low crawl, she made it to the tree and climbed up with ease. On the rare occasions they’d lived somewhere other than a motel, she’d loved climbing trees, and today that love came in handy. Balancing on the third branch up, she lay on her belly and inched her way forward toward the end hanging over the fence.

She dropped down with an oomph, but at least she remained standing.

Stickers pierced her feet, and she fought back a whimper. Where were her shoes? She studied the ground, fearful to look for too long in the dark, then she stepped on the spiky heel of one. Bundling them up in her arms, she darted away as fast as her still-trembling legs could carry her.

Moving through the neighbors’ yards, she made her way back to Aubry’s undercover car—a non-descript blue sedan parked along the curb in a long row of parked cars.

Reaching the sedan, she opened the passenger door, then leaned her head over the grass and tossed her cookies.

Aubry hopped out, coming to her side as she heaved.

“You okay?” He rubbed her back. “Did he harm you?”

She shook her head, remaining hunched over to make sure she was done.

Then she straightened, taking in a huge breath of the winter’s chilled air.

“What happened?”

Aubry flashed in and out of her black-spotted line of sight.

“We better get you in the car.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, guiding her by her left forearm. “Easy does it. You’re safe now.”

Really? He thought she was safe now. Was he insane?

Reaching the passenger door, he eased her into the seat, then he darted around the hood, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“I can’t believe it.” It was an illusion. Of course, it was. Her life was one big illusion. Nothing with Dalton had been real. She shook her head. How could she be with a man she didn’t know—at all? He’d played her, and she hadn’t had a clue.

“You witnessed something, I take it?” Aubry said as he pulled out.

Of course. No concern for her as a person and what she’d just gone through. But what had she expected? This was the FBI, after all.

Aubry flipped the headlights on as they made the turn away from Dalton’s house. “Let’s get you someplace safe where you can relax and feel better.”

She’d ask where, but it didn’t even matter. She just needed to be away from here—and Dalton.

Eighteen

BRISTOL LEANED INTO Agent Marshall, letting her weight rest on him as they entered the hotel room. He helped her into a chair, and she sank into it.

“I’ll get you a washcloth.” He moved for the bathroom, the sink sputtered on, then he returned and knelt in front of her. He folded the washcloth and laid it across her forehead. The bathroom door remained wide open, the night sky as dark as black, liquid ink out the windows.

“Thanks,” she said, her head still spinning—round and round until she feared she’d pass out.

“Just sit still for a bit. You’re really unsteady.”

She nodded, and her head swooshed.

“How’s your stomach?”