Karma (Balancing the Scales Book 1) Page 4

Good behavior paid off sometimes, and while I forced my eyes to remain wide, I relaxed a little. By defending his decision to keep me alive, Phil had crossed a line. I went from an easy kill to someone to hesitate over.

  A real professional would finish the job if forced, but I might be able to buy myself some time. Was the caller telling Phil he had grabbed an FBI agent? Or was it a harmless inquiry on the unexpected extra?

  I waited and held my breath.

  “The current plan? I’ll dump the kitten with the infant. The kitten seems smart enough to take care of things. I’ll put her near a police station and let her figure it out. By the time she gets there, we’ll be long gone.”

  Phil sighed. “I figured as much. Give it two days. Call me back with an update. If there’s no progress, I’ll take care of it.”

  Hanging up, the man returned his cell to his pocket. “You better start praying that little girl’s parents decide to cooperate, kitten.”

  “Is this about money?” I whispered.

  “No, sweetheart. It’s not about money.”

  I clenched my teeth. “Kat. My name’s Kat. If you’re going to kill me, at least have the decency to call me by my name.”

  “Kitten’s got teeth,” he replied, amused. “Short for Katherine? I’d rather not, but business is business, little lady.”

  Business was business, and if I got a hold of his gun, I’d show him he wasn’t the only one willing to kill during a job. “Yeah, it’s short for Katherine,” I lied. “How’d a nice guy like you get into something like this?”

  Phil laughed. “Long story, Kat.”

  I rose from the couch and paced across the room and down the hall. Both bedroom doors were closed, and I heard at least one of the men snoring. I paced back to the front door, staring out into the mountain forest. “Not like I’m doing anything else. The baby’s asleep.”

  Annabelle had been put down for her nap, and if my guess was right, she’d be quiet for another two hours. The car seat, which could double as a carrier, was beside the crib along with the bag.

  If I could down Phil, I could be out the door in one to two minutes. They left the front door unlocked. I had no idea where the SUV keys were, which meant I’d be on foot, but if I could take him out quietly, I’d have some time.

  Their first mistake had been their effort to keep me in good health. I was in good shape; I had to be to survive in the FBI as a special agent. Even loaded with an infant and her bag, I’d be able to run for a long time before I had to stop.

  “The money, of course. Doesn’t hurt I’m good at it. Once we’re done with this job, we’ll disappear and no one will find us. Sorry, kitty cat. That’s just the way it goes with this line of work.”

  Phil’s position on the armchair would make downing him difficult. I stalked my way to the kitchen and sighed at the empty state of the coffee maker. Anything I could potentially use as a weapon was kept high up, even the tin of coffee.

  “Can I have some coffee?” I hadn’t asked for anything since I’d been grabbed.

  “Sure, kitten.”

  I stepped out of the kitchen to let him by. The instant he passed me, I spun and kicked, smashing my foot against the back of his neck. Without waiting to see if that was enough to knock him out, I followed up with a punch to his head, cracking the side of my fist against his temple.

  Phil crumpled to the floor, and I caught him under the arms as he fell to minimize the sound. I froze, listening.

  All was quiet.

  Dragging Phil into the kitchen, I searched him, confiscating his gun and phone. Like most phones, his was locked. To my relief, he hadn’t disabled the emergency dial function, which I pressed. Unwilling to risk my voice waking Phil’s accomplices, I ignored the operator’s voice on the other end of the line.

  It was time to make a run for it and hope the police responded to the silent call. If they did, they’d be right behind me. All I had to do was run with Annabelle and find someone from the police or FBI.

  Easier said than done.

  I slammed the butt of Phil’s gun against the back of his head to make sure he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon before hurrying to Annabelle’s crib.

  The baby didn’t wake as I loaded her into the carrier. I grabbed a container of formula, snatched the filled bottles I had in the fridge, and stuffed the basics into the bag before making a run for it.

  If I had known downing Phil would be so easy, I would have done it the first time I had been alone with him on guard. My regrets hounded me no matter how many times I told myself it wasn’t worth crying over spilled milk. I needed to get Annabelle somewhere safe. Nothing else mattered. I’d have plenty of time to beat myself up for my hesitancy to act later.

  I had escaped, but now I needed to survive long enough for my flight to make a difference.

  My fear of discovery drove me, whipping me into alternating between a run and a jog. When I was forced to slow to a walk to catch my breath, I checked over my shoulder, terrified of the possibility I had been followed.

  The mountain air and high elevation made it difficult to breathe, slowing me down far too much. Most times I had to think things through, but the rare time my gut instinct told me I needed to run, there was a reason for it. Sometimes I never found out what that reason was, but my flight versus fight instinct rarely led me astray.

  The forest was strewn with rocks and pine needles, which helped me mask my tracks. Locating a trail was part of my job in CARD, although we’d have access to people and dogs to help with searches. Checking for a trail in the woods was part of the job.

  Criminals liked dumping bodies in the forest.

  When I could, I hopped from rock to rock, which slowed my pace but let me move without leaving obvious footprints among the bed of needles. What I really needed was a shallow stream so I could walk through the water, make distance, and emerge where there was more rock than trees.

  Annabelle wasn’t too heavy, but it didn’t take long for my arms to start burning from the effort of carrying her, the carrier, and the bag. I was tempted to dump the carrier.

  With her life and safety depending on its protection, however, I didn’t dare carry her in my arms. If necessary, I could set the carrier down and go for my gun.

  The padding could make the difference between life or death for her.

  The gun I had stolen would make the difference for me. I’d have hell to pay from my supervisors for stealing a weapon, but if I survived to endure the scolding and possible reprimands, I’d smile through the entire thing.

  At least the mountain made it easy for me to keep from getting lost. I had one goal: down.

  Down the mountain would take me somewhere. In search and rescue ops, standing around and waiting for help was the way to go, but I couldn’t afford to wait for someone to save me. Once I found a road, I’d be able to get somewhere. Roads always led to somewhere. If I followed the road downhill, I’d be certain to head away from Phil and his conspirators.

  It was a terrible plan, but it beat doing nothing. The clock was ticking, and I had no idea when the hunt for me and Annabelle would begin.

  I ran until I couldn’t take another step. Fighting my downward momentum so I wouldn’t fall and drop Annabelle sapped me of strength. While the mountain was smoother than the jagged peaks I expected from Colorado, a fall would end in disaster.

  Sinking to my knees, I set the carrier on the bed of needles beneath the tall pines, checking on the infant. Her dark eyes were open, and she stared at me, cooing and waving her little hands.

  While she didn’t touch me, my chest tightened at the thought of anyone wanting to hurt her. My breath caught in my throat. Tears stung my eyes as my frustration welled up.

  “Let’s get you fed, baby girl,” I whispered, sliding the bag off my shoulder. “I can’t warm it up properly for you. I’m sorry.”

  Annabelle didn’t seem to care her milk wasn’t warm. She drank, kicking her little feet and clutching at the bottle. When she was finished, I stashed the
empty bottle in the bag, grabbed the towel, and burped her, watching the woods while I patted her back.

  Everything seemed quiet, which unnerved me more than I thought possible. Shivering, I secured the baby in her carrier and staggered to my feet. Maybe I couldn’t run, but I could walk.

  If I had to walk all the way back to Baltimore, I would.

  I lost track of time as I made my way down the mountain. The sun was still up, although it was steadily sinking towards the western horizon. I turned in a slow circle, stopping when I caught a glimpse of a shadow moving through the trees. Fear zapped through me, chilling me from the inside.

  I slid my arm through the handle of the carrier and settled it in the crook of my elbow. Pulling out Phil’s gun, I thumbed the safety off and lifted the weapon, careful to keep my finger away from the trigger.

  I considered calling out, but instead, I backed away, scanning the trees for any sign of a potential threat. Checking my six revealed nothing, and I clenched my teeth in my anxiety.

  I engaged the safety, but I kept my grip on the handgun.

  “Animals,” I muttered. Forests were supposed to have animals, although I didn’t want to run into any of the predators lurking in the Rockies.

  My training didn’t handle how to take on a bear or a wolf or any other sort of man-eating beast that might come after me in the woods. I set Annabelle’s carrier down long enough to do a full check of Phil’s gun and count rounds.

  Eight bullets wouldn’t get me far. That the weapon wasn’t fully loaded bothered me. Who had gotten into the man’s sights already? I breathed until my sense of calm was restored, lifted Annabelle’s carrier, and continued picking my way down the slope, checking my six so often my neck hurt from the effort.

  Maybe I couldn’t see anything in the woods, but the bad feeling refused to go away. I bit my lip.

  It was just an animal. I could deal with an animal. Phil and his conspirators would probably shoot to kill and take Annabelle.

  All the thought did was spur me into moving faster.

  The gentle slope made way for jagged rocks and ravines leading into a valley. I gaped at the obstacles, wondering how I would get through or around them without getting myself or Annabelle killed.

  I settled into breathing slow and deep to keep my heart rate slowed and maintain my calm. Screaming wouldn’t help. Screaming would attract every human and animal on the mountain. Taking out Phil’s gun and shooting pine cones off the trees, while satisfying, would waste bullets and notify everyone there was a crazed shooter around.

  I had built a reputation on being short without having a short temper. I didn’t lose my cool.

  Breathing helped.

  To help keep calm, I checked on Annabelle. The baby slept. It amazed me just how much she slept. Of all the babies my adoptive parents had fostered, none of them were so quiet.

  It made me worry. Babies weren’t supposed to be so quiet. They were supposed to fuss. They were supposed to cry the instant their perfect worlds were disturbed.

  I couldn’t even tell if there was something wrong with the infant, and a new fear stirred. I had been grateful for her quiet; it had kept us both alive—still kept us alive.

  I crouched beside the carrier, tucking the thin blanket around the little girl. “At the rate my imagination is going, it’ll be a yeti that eats us out here.”

  Sighing, I stood, stretched, and put my hands on my hips, staring down at the ravine below. A stream trickled through it, and the thought of water had me taking a tentative step forward to get a better look over the edge.

  I had no idea how long I’d been on the move, but my throat burned with the need for water, and I was well aware dehydration would finish me off long before any animal or human. I still had two bottles for Annabelle, but when they were gone, I would need to find water to mix with her formula.

  “Shit,” I hissed through clenched teeth. The way straight down looked steep. Too steep. It was even worse than the wretched staircase at the house in Baltimore. If I took a single misstep, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again.

  Fear shivered through me, and I backed away from the edge, my heart pounding at the thought of even trying to climb down the rocks.

  I’d find a way to go around. No matter how long it took me, I’d go around. Still trembling, I grabbed the carrier and backed away from the edge, putting distance between me and a very painful death.

  Chapter Five

  There were wolves in Colorado, and one was stalking me through the forest.

  With the sun nearing the horizon and casting long shadows over the mountain, I was running out of time to get rid of the beast before the darkness fell and left me and Annabelle easy prey for it. The ravine I followed opened to a valley, and the stream had grown into a river, something far too wide and deep for me to cross.

  I could swim, but my attempts were more of a flail, and while I kept my head above water, asking anything else from me resulted in hysterical laughter. Fellow trainees and colleagues in the FBI had tried to fix me, but the end result was pathetic at best.

  In dire need, I managed. Otherwise, I was hopeless, and everyone knew it.

  It wasn’t an accident that the nine partners I’d worked with in the FBI were all good swimmers. My first partner had been transferred elsewhere; I liked to believe I wasn’t part of the reason he had transferred, but we hadn’t liked each other all that much. His willingness to use me, no matter the cost, had left me with scars.

  Some of them were even visible.

  My next six partners hadn’t lasted long. Apparently, I was too much of a stick in the mud to work well with others. I understood why; my tolerance for failure was low, second only to my intolerance for unnecessary risk.

  I watched over my partners carefully, guarding their lives far better than my own. The men I had been partnered with hadn’t handled that well, especially not when I was good at it; I somehow knew when shit was about to hit the fan and made certain I got there first and put an end to it before they got hurt.

  The eighth had almost killed me. When I had woken up in the hospital after surgery, he had vanished.

  Security cameras had captured his guilt on film, but I had never found out what had happened to him. There hadn’t been a trial. I guessed he was still out there somewhere, but I’d never know for certain.

  I tried not to think about him. It had taken years before the nightmares of him pulling the trigger had faded.

  My last partner had been different, and I would have given just about anything to have Jake with me. My five foot one next to his six foot two made a lot of people stop, stare, and laugh. He cracked every short joke in the book, waiting until I was off guard to nail me with them.

  The way he found humor in just about every situation was exactly what I needed, because being hunted by a damned wolf while carrying a baby after being kidnapped and carted halfway across the United States wasn’t my idea of a good time. I was supposed to be the one who viewed everything with a calm and critical eye. I didn’t snap under pressure, but my tolerance for the unexpected and stressful was crumbling to nothing.

  Annabelle chose that moment to cry. While her wails were quieter than most babies, the sound had bumps racing along my skin. I echoed her, but instead of a wail, the noise I made was more like a strangled squeak. In the time it took to set the carrier down and try to soothe the infant, I lost track of the wolf in the woods.

  I had two choices: hunt for the wolf while the baby cried, or deal with the baby and hope I could pinpoint the wolf’s position afterwards. I chose taking care of Annabelle, but I was careful to thumb off the safety of Phil’s gun, keeping it at hand in case the wild canine decided to come too close for my comfort.

  A single whiff was all it took for me to identify the source of Annabelle’s unhappiness. I changed her diaper, set the soiled one aside, and contemplated using it as a weapon. The smell was enough to make my eyes water. If I slapped a wolf across the nose with it, would it help?


  Probably not. I’d probably just piss the damned thing off.

  Frustration, anger, and helplessness conspired to bring the burn of tears to my eyes. I wasn’t suppose to be a crier. The first time I had taken a round in the arm during a case gone south, I hadn’t cried. Instead, the instant the all clear had been given, I had screamed curses at my first partner, who hadn’t kept a watch on my six like he had promised he would. Watching my own back had prevented the shot from going through the back of my head instead of my arm.

  It had taken three other agents to keep me from strangling the bastard for risking my life so he could look good for our supervisor. In the following six months, I’d been shot three more times. One of the FBI’s psychologists had filed a request for my partner’s transfer. My new partner hadn’t been much better, although I had managed to avoid any injuries when he had flaked out on me.

  Jake would’ve laughed at me, watched my six, and told me to put myself back together so I could go kick the wolf’s ass, since kicking ass and taking names was my job, and I was supposed to be good at it.

  My only regret was the fact the giant of a man was staying in Baltimore while I was moving on to CARD. HRT had snapped Jake up the instant he had started looking for other waters thanks to my taking the dive to join CARD.

  If I got eaten by a wolf after being kidnapped along with an infant, Jake would never forgive me. He would probably hunt down my corpse and tear into me, fully expecting his lecture to reach the afterlife.

  Breathing helped. Breathing always helped, and I clung to the thought while crouched beside Annabelle’s carrier, determined to get my head back into the game. I could deal with a wolf.

  Phil was more threatening than a wolf.

  I had a gun, it had bullets, and I was a good shot. I didn’t need to worry about a wolf. I could shoot it in the head and go about my business. Sure, I’d piss off the animal rights people, but if I had a choice between me or the wolf, the wolf was going to eat rounds.