Hidden Prey Read online

  Like other residents, Tori had often referred to it as The Time Tunnel. It was as though they traveled through time, leaving the world of today and visiting an earlier century.

  The van entered the dimness of the tunnel and she resisted holding her breath. Seeping water had stained the concrete walls—the project to maintain the integrity of the structure never ended.

  When the van reached the other end of the tunnel, she blinked away the bright sunlight and let out her breath. She almost laughed. Without realizing it, she’d been holding her breath after all.

  The shuttle continued on and she leaned forward in her seat, her cell phone in her pocket digging into her hip. Her gaze drifted to take in homes perched on the hillsides and the aging narrow road the shuttle traveled.

  Waves of memories rolled over her of her years growing up in Bisbee. She hadn’t been able to wait to leave when she had graduated from Bisbee High School. She’d wanted to escape the small town and learn what waited out in the great big world. Now, here she was, running back to it.

  Her smile faded. She’d never thought one man could make her whole world crash down around her, chasing her away from her dreams and everything she’d worked so hard for. One man.

  Tori ground her teeth. She wouldn’t allow this to be more than a temporary blip on her radar. She would go back to her life—only it would be without Gregory.

  Just the thought of him and what he’d done to her before she’d left him made her feel dirty and her skin crawled.

  And now she was running home to Mama.

  The backs of her eyes stung. Josie Nuñez Cox had been Tori’s safe place, her refuge and, even at thirty-three, she needed her mother more than ever.

  Tori put her fingers to her temples. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten not only her laptop, but her six-thousand-dollar clarinet too. She’d left them by the front door of the town house she owned and prayed Gregory wouldn’t destroy either in a fit of anger at her leaving. More than likely he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t prone to physical violence. No, he preferred to sling harmful words when he was angry, beating her down verbally and emotionally.

  He’d also expect her to come back for the clarinet, especially. Of the five clarinets she owned, she had paid most dearly for the Buffet Crampon professional. She didn’t know how she could survive long without music, but she wasn’t going back, not yet. At least her mother still had the old Baldwin upright piano Tori had learned to play on from the age of four and one of Tori’s old clarinets might still be around.

  If her car hadn’t been in the shop, she could have loaded everything most important to her. But she hadn’t been able to wait for the car. She’d had to get away from Gregory.

  Her gaze drifted out of the window and skimmed over the mountainsides as she fought back tears. The stinging ache behind her eyes slowly dissolved when she turned her focus on her surroundings. She could name the homes of old friends and wondered if any of them still lived there or in town.

  The shuttle traveled down Tombstone Canyon, past St. Patrick’s Church. She’d belonged to the church from childhood until she’d graduated from high school. She had gone through catechism and had received her first Holy Communion and Confirmation at St. Pat’s.

  Castle Rock loomed before them while the shuttle continued to Main Street in Old Bisbee. Victorian and European-style homes clung to the hillsides.

  The shuttle passed Castle Rock then rounded the bend, continuing down the street between rows of old buildings that had been around since around 1910, rebuilt after a fire had ravaged the town. In the early 1900s, the town had been home to over twenty thousand people, the largest city between St. Louis and San Francisco.

  Now the town had less than fifty-five hundred people. It had once been reduced to an even lower population.

  Bisbee had nearly died in the 1970s when the mines had closed, but hippies had revived it by restoring old buildings and homes, painting them bright colors and turning the old mining town into an artists’ community. The history of the place, plus the uniqueness and quaintness of the town, drew tourists from around the world.

  The shuttle driver parked in the lot behind the Bisbee Convention Center, which had once been the old Phelps Dodge Mercantile. The driver had told her he wouldn’t take the van up the steep winding street to her parents’ home, so she would climb up on her own. She didn’t mind—she’d been a runner in high school and kept in shape by jogging regularly. It would give her a chance to collect herself before she made it to her mom and dad’s. She just hoped her dad wasn’t there. She needed some alone time with her mom.

  After she tipped the driver, she pushed her cell phone deeper in her pocket then tucked her purse into her bright pink travel bag. She still couldn’t believe she’d run off without her clarinet and laptop. She’d been so upset she hadn’t been thinking clearly when the shuttle had arrived to pick her up and she hadn’t remembered she’d left the bag and clarinet until they had been miles away.

  She bent to pick up the bag she had remembered and her crop top and low-rise jeans revealed her tan belly and back even more. Gregory had always hated her revealing any flesh, including the tattoo on her lower back, just above her waistband. He hadn’t liked the idea of other men looking at her, nor did he approve of tattoos on women. She’d had Klarinette tattooed onto her skin in college. She liked the German spelling of her chosen instrument, which had been ‘invented’ in Germany around the turn of the eighteenth century.

  Screw Gregory. She slung the bag over her shoulder. She’d wear whatever she damn well pleased.

  The heavy bag’s long strap dug into her shoulder as she looked around in the waning daylight. A few cars passed while she walked to the old post office, crossed Main Street, then headed back around an old bank building.

  She turned onto Subway Street, a quiet one-way street, and walked up a steep road that took her near what had once been an old YMCA. She continued to climb the paved road on the hillside, past the old Central School.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she stopped to pull it out. A number she didn’t recognize flashed across the display.

  She brought it to her ear and answered, “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Gregory’s demanding voice hit her like a punch to the chest. “Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” She straightened and set her bag on the ground. “We are through.”

  “The hell we are.” The way he spoke hammered every word. “Get your ass home.”

  Tori gripped the phone tightly. “I’ll come back for my things when I’m ready, but we are done.”

  Before he could say another word, she disconnected the call and jammed the phone back into her pocket. Her face flushed with anger and her footsteps fell heavy on the asphalt as she trudged up the hill toward the point where Shearer turned into Clawson Avenue. The phone vibrated again, but she ignored it.

  Near the north side of the arts center, Tori took a shortcut. Once she was farther up the hill, she rounded a vehicle. To her right was a black SUV close to an old white Toyota parked in an alleyway. The growing shadows obscured the cars, out of sight of anyone but someone walking by, like her, which wasn’t often in this area.

  Two men—one with white-blond hair and Slavic features, and a dark-haired guy with a pencil-thin mustache who looked to be of Hispanic descent—faced a third man. The third man had his back to the white Toyota. He had a slender physique compared to the other two, but she couldn’t see his face.

  Tori started to turn her gaze in the direction she’d been headed when the men’s voices drew her attention again. A fourth man, this one wearing a tailored charcoal-gray suit, stepped out of the back of the SUV. The man had finely carved features and an athletic build.

  Something glinted in the fading sunlight and Tori froze. Her heart thudded when the man in the suit pointed a gun at the lone man who stood with his back to the Toyota.

  “Death is more than you deserve, Mateo.�
�� The suited man’s Hispanic accent was heavy and cultured. “But your death will send a message.”

  Horror gripped Tori as the speaker aimed his handgun at Mateo’s chest. It had a long barrel, like one of those guns with silencers she’d seen on TV.

  Mateo didn’t flinch and he raised his chin. “Your family’s reign of terror will end, El Puño.”

  The man in the suit gave Mateo an appraising look and a smile curved the corner of his mouth. “A dead man’s desperate attempt to make his life end with meaning. Pathetic.” The man gestured to the ground. “On your knees.”

  When Mateo didn’t move, the other two men grabbed him by the arms and forced him to his knees, facing away from the suited man, his hands cuffed behind him.

  Tori stared, unable to breathe, much less comprehend the scene.

  The suited man moved closer and put the barrel of his gun to the back of Mateo’s head.

  A spitting sound, and blood and brain matter sprayed over the white car as Mateo dropped. He collapsed on his side and, in her shock, Tori saw his face had been blown off.

  Tori screamed. The remaining three men turned and spotted her. The man in the suit raised his gun and pointed it at her.

  She dropped her bag and ran.

  Terror ripped through her. Adrenaline pumped in her veins, jacking her pulse, and her blood pounded in her ears.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!

  The men had the way down blocked off. She had to run higher on the hillside.

  “Get her!” the man in the suit shouted. “Kill the bitch!”

  A bullet pierced a stop sign as she passed it, the pinging sound saying it tore through metal.

  Tori ran faster. Her heart beat harder, out of control, as if it might explode from fear. She couldn’t think, she could only react.

  Sounds of heavy footfalls grew louder and she doubled her speed. She could outrun these men. She had to outrun them.

  She glanced over her shoulder and her fear spiked. Maybe two hundred feet away now, the men each held guns, aimed at her.

  Another scream tore from her and she increased her speed. Even though she ran every day, the high altitude and the steepness of the streets winded her.

  She threw another look over her shoulder. The men closed in on her. One of them stopped and aimed his weapon. She zigged and zagged, hoping that would keep the men from hitting her. She passed a stone wall beneath a house on the hillside and small pieces of rock exploded beside her.

  The sting of the rocks striking her face and arms only made her fight harder to keep running. She prayed for someone to help her but then prayed no one would attempt it so they wouldn’t be shot.

  These men would kill any witnesses, of that she was certain. She had to outlast them by searching for a place to hide. She thought about the old high school. Could she hide there, in the hope that she wouldn’t be found?

  The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and she didn’t know how much farther she could make it. This time when she looked over her shoulder, she saw she’d gained ground, now farther ahead of the men.

  Her heart pounded and her face flushed, sweat coating her body. Her breathing became more labored and her muscles screamed as she ran higher and higher yet.

  She rounded another corner, then an SUV. Just as she ran around the vehicle, rough hands grabbed her, jerking her out of the street. She started to scream when a hand clamped over her mouth.

  Panic sent more adrenaline surging through her and she tried to struggle and get away from the strong arm wrapped around her. She kicked, her heel connecting with a shin, and heard the man swear.

  “I’m trying to help you.” The man’s voice was low. “Come on.”

  She stopped fighting and he released her. She whirled to face a big man with a hard look on his scarred features. He grabbed her hand. Instinct told her he was one of the good guys and she ran with him up a short flight of stairs leading to a small house surrounded by tall shrubs. They ducked in a side door and he shut it behind without allowing it to close hard enough to make a sound.

  Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath, her whole body hot, sweat dripping down the small of her back. Her heart might never stop thundering.

  Her gaze swiveled to the man.

  He gripped a gun in one hand.

  She stumbled in the small kitchen, a cry of fear escaping her. She backed away from the man who held the weapon in his right hand as he peered through the slit in the curtains. Her hip hit a kitchen chair and it screeched over the linoleum. She swung her gaze around, trying to find some kind of weapon.

  He glanced over his shoulder and must have recognized the terror in her eyes, staring at his gun.

  “I’m a federal agent.” He pulled his overshirt aside and relief rushed through her when she saw a gold badge on his belt. He turned back to the window. “You can tell me what the hell is going on once I make sure these bastards are long gone.”

  “Watch your tongue, Landon Michael Walker,” came a voice from behind Tori.

  Tori gave a startled yelp as she spun to face a woman under five feet tall, who had to be close to a hundred years old. It was easy to see she’d been a little taller before age and gravity had swiped a few inches from her and caused her back and shoulders to stoop.

  “Sorry, Grandma Teresa,” Landon said and Tori cut her gaze back to him. He was still staring out of the window. And Tori still trembled.

  “Who are you?” Grandma Teresa asked, her tone blunt.

  The woman had a strong accent. Polish, Tori thought. She’d had a Polish professor during her undergrad years.

  “I’m Tori.” She swallowed. “Tori Cox.”

  “You in some kind of trouble?” the elderly woman asked.

  “I-I saw something.” Tori’s entire body continued shaking. “I—” She put her fist in her mouth and bit down, trying to calm herself.

  “No sign of the men chasing you.” Landon turned away from the window. “I think you’re safe.”

  She blinked and stared at him.

  He frowned. “What did you see?”

  Tori couldn’t think straight, almost couldn’t comprehend the man’s question.

  “What did you see?” he repeated. “Tell me. Now.”

  She lowered her hand. Her voice shook when she spoke and she had a hard time getting the words out. “I saw them kill a man.”

  Landon’s expression hardened. “Are you certain that’s what you saw?”

  “I can’t believe it.” She brought her shaking hand to her neck. “They shot him. Oh, my God. They shot him.”

  “I need you to focus.” Landon holstered his weapon and grasped her firmly by her shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I-I—” Her throat worked. “The alleyway was kind of dark. But I saw them. I wasn’t too far from the men. I saw them.”

  He kept his gaze locked with hers. “Where?”

  Her whole body shook harder as all that had happened hit her even more violently. “An alleyway.” She tried to focus on her words. “North of the arts center, on the way up School Hill.”

  He released her and pulled a cell phone out of a holster on his belt. He punched in a single number, likely speed dial. She rubbed her arms with her hands, feeling goosebumps beneath her palms. She bit her lower lip, listening while he reported the possible homicide to the Bisbee Police Department.

  When he’d finished talking, his green eyes focused on her. “Tell me everything you saw and heard.”

  “For heaven’s sake, let the girl sit and catch her breath.” Teresa shuffled toward a table that barely fit in the postage stamp-sized kitchen as she admonished Landon. “You look like you could use a glass of cold water, young lady.” Teresa opened the door of the small older-model fridge.

  “Yes, thank you.” Tori’s mind spun, but she still thought about offering to help the woman.

  Landon moved in front of Teresa and took the pitcher out of the fridge. Teresa grabbed a glass out of a dish drainer.

&nb
sp; Tori sank into a chair at the table, her body still shaking. Her breathing slowed and her skin cooled some, but her face remained hot.

  It was the first chance she’d had to really look at Landon. Her bleary eyes made it difficult to focus, but she forced herself. Anything but think of the man whose face had been blown off.

  Landon stood over six feet and wore a blue T-shirt beneath a white overshirt with rolled-up sleeves, which now hid the holstered gun. In spite of the overshirt, she could see his muscular form. He must regularly work out or do something to stay in such great shape. His tough, seasoned look went along with his hard, masculine features and a wicked scar along the right side of his face, from his cheekbone to his jaw. Late thirties, she guessed.

  He faced her and her already heated cheeks warmed even more. She couldn’t believe that in this situation she’d been taking stock of his assets. She grasped the glass of water he handed her. Her hand hadn’t stopped shaking and a little of the water splashed on it.

  “Thank you.” She drank then set the glass on the table with a light thump. She managed to gather her composure enough to ask, “What agency are you with?”

  “Department of Homeland Security.” Landon eyed her. “Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency.”

  She leaned back in her seat and took another drink of water, hoping it would help settle her nerves. No such luck. “I’m fortunate you were outside.”

  “I happened to be in the right place at the right time.” He pulled out a chair for his grandmother to Tori’s right.

  “And I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” It surprised her that she was able to do more than stutter.

  After the elderly woman had sat, Landon remained standing but leaned over and braced his palms on the table, directly across from Tori.

  “Sit, Landon.” Teresa spoke in her no-nonsense tone, but the man remained focused on Tori.

  “The police are going to need to know what you saw, Tori.” It was clear in the way he spoke to her that he wanted to keep her calm, but needed information. “When did it happen?”

  “Minutes before you rescued me.” She swallowed. “I walked up the hill and took a shortcut. I saw some men talking.” She described the two vehicles and the men the best she could with her mind pinging all over the place. “A fourth man got out of the SUV. He pointed a gun at the man standing against the white car.” Fear shot through her once again, as if she were still watching the scene unfolding before her. “It happened so fast.”