There is no safe place—

not even in witness protection.

On the run after her witness protection location is exposed, Iris James trusts nobody—until the return of an undercover detective she thought was dead. Mack Gray was once Iris’s protector—and the man she was falling for—but he was forced to fake his death and go into hiding. Now with a killer’s henchmen on their trail, can he keep her alive long enough to testify?

Protected Identities

MAGGIE K. BLACK is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history-teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.

Also By Maggie K. Black

Protected Identities

Christmas Witness Protection

Runaway Witness

True North Heroes

Undercover Holiday Fiancée

The Littlest Target

Rescuing His Secret Child

Cold Case Secrets

Amish Witness Protection

Amish Hideout

Military K-9 Unit

Standing Fast

True North Bodyguards

Kidnapped at Christmas

Rescue at Cedar Lake

Protective Measures

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Runaway Witness

Maggie K. Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90644-3

RUNAWAY WITNESS

© 2020 Mags Storey

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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“I don’t want your help.” Iris’s shoulders shrugged and she walked backward toward her camper. “I don’t even know who you are. Just, please, forget you ever found me.”

No, she wasn’t running away from him. Not now, not after Mack had tried so hard and fought so long to find her.

A black and windowless van flew around the corner at a speed that shocked him. A huge man in dark fatigues sat in the front seat. The snarling face of some kind of wild animal with large jagged teeth was painted on the front of his camo-green mask. It was a Jackal, and one with the very same build and mask as the one who’d shot him outside Iris’s apartment and left him for dead.

“Iris!” Mack shouted. “Run!”

The Jackal leaned out the window and fired.

Mack leaped, pushing Iris out of the way just as he felt the sharp sting of a tranquilizer dart pierce his neck.

Dear Reader,

I was eleven years old when I decided to become an author, and thirteen when I started really trying to write books. I still have all of my early tries stashed away in my cupboard. My handwriting was so terrible, I crossed out so many things, and crammed so many words on a page that I can barely read them. But I can still smell the lingering fruits of the different scented pens I used to write with. It wasn’t until I was twenty-four that I started writing the first full-length book I’d ever publish. (In fact, I started it on the road trip I mentioned on the dedication page.) I sold that book nine years later, when I was thirty-three.

The book you now hold in your hands is my twentieth.

I’m here because of hundreds of people, far more than I could ever count or list here. There are friends, readers, agents, editors, people who read my first tries and people who supported me. People who gave me space to write in their B and Bs, and coffee shops I worked in. Fellow writers who taught me how to write better. Countless members of law enforcement, the military and people I trained with at the dojo who helped me choreograph scenes.

And I want to thank you, my readers, for all of your encouragement. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been discouraged and received a note or message from you that has encouraged me to keep going. You have given me strength and hope when I’m feeling defeated, and I am eternally grateful for you.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me,

Maggie

What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbours together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.

—Luke 15:4–5, 8–9

This book is dedicated to the woman who was working at a truck stop in Georgia at three in the morning, years ago, when I was on a road trip. She told me to go ahead and sleep in my car overnight in front of her window, because she’d pray and sing to the Lord for me while I was sleeping, watch over me, and make sure I was safe.

I think about her faith and kindness a lot.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Iris James’s hands shook as she piled dirty dishes high on her tray. Something about the look of the bearded man in the corner booth was unsettlingly familiar. He’d been nursing his coffee way longer than anyone had any business loitering around a highway diner in the middle of nowhere, in the northern regions of Ontario, even if there was a snowstorm brewing outside. But it wasn’t until she noticed the telltale lump of a gun hidden underneath his red plaid jacket that she realized he might be there to kill her.

She shifted the tray of dirty dishes into the crook of her arm and slid her hand deep into the pocket of her waitress’s uniform, feeling for the small handgun tucked behind her order pad.

Then she glanced around the crowded diner and prayed.

If today’s the day Oscar Underwood’s hit men finally catch me, please get someone to find and rescue every last person he kidnapped. And don’t let anyone in this diner right now get hurt in the crossfire.

It was six thirty at night, the late-February sun would be setting soon and the dinner rush was in full swing. Iris stepped behind an empty table and watched the man out of the corner of her eye as she quickly added more dishes to her growing pile.

Growing up poor in a small Canadian town, she’d first gotten a gun to protect herself against wild animals, never imagining she’d ever need it for protection against kidnappers or killers. But then she’d become a social worker, opened a homeless drop-in center in Toronto and started hearing rumors that Underwood’s men had been kidnapping strong and healthy street youth and homeless people in their late teens and early twenties to work on his remote farms and ranches.

The homeless said Underwood used a team of masked “Jackals” to subdue and tranquilize their victims. Police had called it a ridiculous urban legend. Iris had done everything she could to get the authorities to take action, including camping outside the Toronto mayor’s office.

But no one listened. Not until the kindest, sweetest and most understanding man she’d ever known—a homeless center volunteer named Mack Gray—had been murdered.

She’d agreed to testify at Underwood’s trial and go into witness protection until then. But criminal hackers had stolen her witness protection file and sold it to Underwood. She’d dropped out of witness protection’s care, disappeared from the new life they’d given her and had been on the run from the Jackals ever since, dyeing her blond hair various shades of brown, living out of a camper trailer and never stopping anywhere for more than a few days at a time.

Iris dropped her tray of dirty dishes on the counter and grabbed a steaming pot of coffee, pulling it off the percolator so quickly it splashed and sizzled on the heating element. She wove through the tables, praying for wisdom, topping up mugs and watching him out of the corner of her eye. The man was taller than his slouch implied, with a thick black beard and a Montreal Canadiens baseball cap shoved down so low she could barely see his face. But even as he seemed to avert his gaze when she glanced his direction, she couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been watching her.

And that she’d definitely seen him somewhere before. Something about the line of his jaw unsettled her in a way she couldn’t begin to understand.

A shiver ran down her spine and she gripped the coffeepot tighter to keep it from shaking. As if sensing her eyes on him, the bearded man glanced up, and for a fraction of a second she caught sight of a pair of piercing blue eyes before his gaze dropped back to his coffee.

Mack?

Hot tears filled her vision and her hands began to shake so hard that the coffee sloshed in the pot she carried. No! It can’t be! Come on, Iris, get a grip on yourself.

Mack’s body had been found floating in Lake Ontario eight weeks ago with two bullets in his back. This man was at least ten pounds lighter than Mack, with a nose that was much wider and a chin a lot squarer than Mack’s had been.

“Hey, waitress!” A large trucker from the group at the table by the window snatched hold of her wrist as she passed and jerked her back a step. “Don’t be so stingy. Leave the pot.”

She yanked her hand away, scalding coffee sloshing over her arm as she did so. A chorus of crude laughter rose from the table of truckers in front of her.

“Pay your bill and get out!” The diner’s gray-haired owner, Colleen, clapped sharply at the men as if they were wayward chickens and stormed across the room. “Nobody touches my staff. And leave a decent tip behind you!”

The diminutive woman stood by the table with her arms crossed as the men each dropped a twenty on the table, grabbed the remains of their sandwiches and skedaddled into the snow without waiting for change.

Colleen glanced at Iris. Soft lines crinkled her face. “You all right?”

Iris nodded. When she’d packed everything she owned into the tiny camper, emptying her bank account and going on the run, she’d managed to take with her a large laminated map of the country, on which she’d marked all the locations that street youth had told her they’d been able to go off the grid for help, food, safety and work. What had once been a passion project to help her better understand the lives of those who came through the center’s doors had now become a roadmap to her own survival.

She’d visited close to a hundred so far as she’d crisscrossed the country. They hadn’t all panned out. A few she’d suspected had been fronts for criminal activity and for some others she’d barely arrived before the still-small voice inside her told her it was time to leave. But most had been filled with kind and compassionate strangers, like Colleen, and guilt welled up inside Iris, knowing she was about to disappear on her before her shift was done. She glanced back at the bearded man in the booth.

He was gone.

Iris’s heartbeat quickened as her eyes darted around the room. He was nowhere to be seen. At least while she could watch him, she’d felt like she had some control over the situation. Now he was out there, somewhere, like an animal waiting to strike.

“You’ll be surprised to see just how many people who come in here would rather drop a twenty than bother to do math,” Colleen said, dragging Iris’s attention back to the table. In their hurry to leave, the men had left a hundred dollars on a forty-one-dollar bill. Colleen swept up the pile of twenties and handed them to Iris. “Cash out the bill and consider whatever’s leftover your tip. I’m just sorry you had to put up with that.”

“Thank you.” Iris swallowed hard, scooped the dirty dishes onto a tray and picked it up. If she’d been able to wait out just three more days, she would have gotten over six hundred dollars in her first paycheck. But every inch of nerves running down her spine told her not to wait another minute. “I really hate asking this, but I wondered if I could get a small cash advance on my pay for food and gas?”

She held her breath, but Colleen didn’t even blink. “There are two one-hundred-dollar bills underneath the tray in the cash register. Take them and make a note in the ledger. You all right?”

“I will be,” Iris said. “Thank you.”

Iris turned quickly and hurried to the counter before Colleen could see the guilt and fear filling her eyes. She dropped off the dishes, cashed out the bill, took the two hundreds and her tip and headed through the kitchen, grabbing her jacket off a hook. She pushed through the back door and scanned her surroundings. Not a person in sight. Winter air stung her skin. Snow swirled down around her and the gray February sky spread above her, hemmed in by dark green conifers.

She zipped herself into her jacket and pulled the hood down tight as she ran for the tree line and then through the snow-covered woods until she reached the abandoned gas station where she’d parked her big black truck. She’d paid cash for the small secondhand camper trailer attached to the hitch and that had been her home for the past few weeks.

Almost there. All she had to do was make it across the parking lot, get to her camper, leap inside and hit the road.

The bearded man stepped out from behind the gas station.

She stopped short, yanked the small handgun from her pocket and pointed it at him with both hands. “Whoever you are, get down! Now!”

“Don’t shoot!” His hands rose. “It’s me! Mack!”

Her heart froze. The shape of his face was slightly wrong, and seeing him here and now defied all logic. Yet somehow she knew that voice with every beat of her heart.

The gun shook in her hands. “I told you to get down!”

“Iris! I’m an undercover cop!”

Detective Mack Gray’s heart pounded so hard as he stared into Iris’s hazel eyes that the bullet wounds left by a Jackal ached in his chest. How was she even more tenacious and more beautiful than he remembered?

He’d gone undercover with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to investigate claims that Oscar Underwood was kidnapping street people to work at his remote farms and ranches. For some unexplained reason, local Toronto police were turning a blind eye to it. Mack had volunteered at the homeless drop-in center in order to protect Oscar’s latest target—the head social worker. And he’d completely underestimated just what a force of nature she would turn out to be.

Iris James had this huge heart that made street youth open up to her, combined with a sheer tenacity that kept her hounding the mayor’s office and harping at local police no matter how much they dismissed her. When he’d been shot and nearly killed by one of Underwood’s Jackals, Mack had thought he’d never see her again.

Now, despite the handgun clutched in her hands, it took all his self-control not to try to hug her.

“I’m part of what I guess you could call an off-the-grid witness protection task force. Helping those whose secret identity files were stolen and sold in the recent data hack at Christmas,” Mack said. “I’ve been looking for you for weeks. I know I look a bit different, but that’s only because I’m wearing facial prosthetics. The nephew of one of our guys is a whiz when it comes to creating disguises—”

“Mack Gray is dead.” The words left her mouth like the crack of a whip.

He felt his jaw drop. Dead? Whichever cop had come up with that cover for his disappearance had left it out of the files.

“I was injured,” he said, keeping his hands raised, “but I survived.”

“Mack Gray was shot.” Iris punctuated her words by jabbing at the air with the gun like it was a teacher’s chalkboard pointer. “Twice. Then tossed into Lake Ontario by one of Underwood’s Jackals.”

Well, that part was true at least.

“I was hit with a tranquilizer dart first,” he admitted, “then shot twice with a handgun and then they tried to drown me.”

The memory reared up suddenly and painfully inside his mind. It had been just him and Iris alone in the homeless center that night, cleaning up and talking long after it had closed.

She’d been upset about the missing street youth, he’d walked her home to her tiny ground-floor apartment in one of the less desirable parts of the city, and despite the fact he was supposed to keep a professional distance from his targets, he’d found himself wrapping his arms around her. He’d held her tightly and promised her that no matter what it took, Underwood would be stopped and all the people he’d forced into working for him would be found.

She’d gone inside, but he’d stayed there, asking God to help him handle whatever the strange and overwhelming emotions he felt for her were that seemed to be cascading inside him.

That’s when he’d seen the man, clad in dark fatigues, with a horrific snarling face painted on his camo-green ski mask. With a tranquilizer gun in his hand, he’d tried to open Iris’s window.

And Mack had seen red.

Despite not having permission to engage or break cover unless Iris’s life was in imminent danger, Mack had chased him off. He’d pursued the man through Toronto’s back alleys until there’d been a flash, then a bang of a gun, and then all was a blur of pain. He’d woken up in the hospital three days later, with holes in his chest, machines keeping him alive and a buddy breaking the news he was on probation pending internal investigation.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you thought I was dead. I should’ve tried to find out what cover story they’d given you. Usually they go with something far less dramatic, like a sick grandmother in Moosonee.” He considered telling her about the Jackal outside her window and then decided what mattered most was calming her down. That was one thing he’d always been good at. “But yeah, I was shot by a Jackal in an ugly camouflage green animal mask. It was touch and go for a long time and doctors thought I wasn’t going to make it. If it helps, I was actually legally dead for a moment.”

He tried to grin as he added the last part in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you seriously trying to joke about almost dying?” Iris demanded.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Though judging by the look on your face, that wasn’t the right call.” He resisted the urge to point out she’d always seemed to find his lame jokes funny before. “I’m sorry, I’m really cold right now and I didn’t exactly plan out what I was going to say when I found you.”

Fire flashed in her eyes. “And now that you’ve found me, what do you want?”

Your forgiveness. The words crossed his mind and surprised him.

“I want you to go back into witness protection until Underwood’s trial,” he said. “I know we let you down last time. But the Jackals won’t stop looking for you until you’re dead and as your friend—”

“You are not my friend,” she cut him off. “I don’t even know who you are anymore. Because the Mack Gray I knew would never lie to me! He was the only person on my side fighting to stop Underwood and would never use me or pretend to care about me, as part of some undercover ruse!”

He opened his mouth to try to explain himself but the pain in his chest tightened so sharply he could barely breathe.

“Iris.” He started toward her. Instinctively his arms parted to pull her into his chest. “I’m really, really sorry—”

“Stop.” She raised her free hand like a traffic cop. “You don’t get to hug me. Not now. Not ever again. I lost one of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life. Twice. First when a cop showed up at my door and told me Mack Gray was dead, and again right now when you told me our whole relationship was fake and our friendship didn’t exist to begin with. I want you to go, leave me alone and forget that you ever found me.”

A black, windowless van flew around the corner at a speed that shocked him. A huge man in dark fatigues sat in the front seat. The snarling face of some kind of wild animal with large jagged teeth was painted on the front of his camo-green mask. It was a Jackal, with the very same mask as the one who’d shot him outside Iris’s apartment and left him for dead.

“Iris!” Mack shouted. “Run!”

The Jackal leaned out the window and fired.

Mack pushed Iris out of the way just as he felt the sharp sting of a tranquilizer dart pierce his neck.

TWO

Iris’s feet pelted across the expansive parking lot and toward the safety of the truck. Behind her she could hear the Jackal’s van coming and Mack shouting at her to run. Panic welled up inside her throat. Somehow, one of Underwood’s Jackals had finally found her and for the first time in her life she saw with her own eyes the terrifying painted face mask she’d only heard whispered rumors of.

Gunfire filled the air, then came a deafening bang and a screech of metal, and she glanced back. Mack had shot one of the tires out, sending the van flying into a pole.

“Go on without me!” Mack called behind her. “Don’t stop! I’ll find you!”

How? She didn’t even know how he’d found her the first time. The Mack she’d gotten to know over the four months he’d volunteered at the center had claimed to be a recently laid-off dishwasher. He’d been gentle, sweet and the last man she’d have ever pegged for a cop. The first time they’d met had been when he’d come to her aid when the mayor’s chief of security had been roughly trying to force her out of City Hall. At the time, Mack had just calmly stepped in between them, like some kind of peacemaker, and in cool, measured tones, told the other man to back off and let go of her.

But now, as the van door opened and the green-masked Jackal leaped out, Mack ran right at him, like a football player going in for the tackle.

Her heartbeat thudded. A tranquilizer dart hung loose from Mack’s neck, seemingly tangled in his scarf. He’d been shot! The heavy sedative would be streaming through his veins, slowing his movements until unconsciousness swept over him and he passed out.

Despite every conflicted feeling swirling inside her, the sight of Mack in danger stabbed like a knife to her heart. She might not like what he’d done or the fact he’d somehow found her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of watching him die in front of her now.

The Jackal raised the tranq gun and fired at Mack again. She held her breath and prayed. Help him, Lord! One tranquilizer dart could put him to sleep for hours. Two might kill him.

She watched, almost frozen in place, as Mack dropped to the ground and rolled. The second dart flew past him and went skimming across the snowy ground. Then Mack spun back and threw himself at the masked man, grabbing the dart gun with both hands and wrestling it from his grasp.

The Jackal swung hard, leveling Mack with a swift blow. The Jackal reached for the holster at his side, but Mack didn’t give him the opportunity to grab his handgun. The detective reared up and swung back, striking the Jackal with a strong blow of his own.

“Iris!” Mack shouted, his voice ragged as he panted for breath. “Go! Get out of here! I’ll hold him off!”

All she had to do was get in her truck, gun the engine and hit the open road. She’d managed to hide from Underwood and his Jackals for this long. She’d evade them again.

But how could she just take off and leave Mack fighting for his life? Whoever he was and whatever he’d done, he deserved better than that. She’d lost him once. She wouldn’t lose him again.

At least, not like this.

She braced her feet on the ground and pulled her weapon. “Stop! Or I’ll fire! And I’m not shooting darts!”

But when she tried to set the Jackal in her sights, she realized it was no use. She couldn’t get a clear shot. If she fired, she could hit Mack. All she could do was watch helplessly as the masked man tried to beat Mack down, while he deflected blow after blow. He fought back with a strength, skill and ferocity that she had never imagined the gentle man she’d known could possess.

Who are you, Mack Gray? Why did you come looking for me?

All he had to do was break free long enough to make a run for it, leap into the truck and let her drive them to safety. But she could see Mack was flagging.

Then it happened, the Jackal caught him with a single, hard left hook to the temple that sent Mack flying. A cry slipped from her lips as she watched him hit the ground and roll.

Get up! Come on, get up!

The Jackal turned and ran toward her. Mack hauled himself up to his feet and jumped on the Jackal’s back, clutching a tranquilizer dart in his hand. He jabbed it hard into the Jackal’s shoulder. With a roar, the masked man tossed him off onto the ground. This time, Mack didn’t get up.

“I need backup!” the Jackal shouted into the walkie-talkie at his lapel as he charged across the lot toward her. “Hurry! I’ve been hit with a tranquilizer!”

For one brief fraction of a second, she glanced past him to where Mack now lay limp on his stomach on the ground. She prayed for him to move. His head raised, and his piercing blue eyes met hers in a glance.

“Go…” The word moved silently on Mack’s lips. “Run.”

Iris threw herself into the driver’s seat, slammed the door behind her and slid the key into the ignition. The Jackal hesitated, like he didn’t know whether to finish Mack or go for Iris. She didn’t give him the choice. She turned the key, hit the gas and the truck shot across the parking lot toward them.

The green-masked Jackal raised his handgun toward her and fired.

Fatigue crashed over Mack, like a heavy wave pressing his body into the cold, wet ground. At the corner of his consciousness, he was barely aware of a vehicle roaring closer and gunshots firing, but it was like it was happening to someone else and very far away. He’d seen the effects of tranquilizers on other people firsthand and he knew he’d had it in his system when he’d been found shot in Lake Ontario. But now he actually felt it, a weird numbing and tingling feeling, heavier than any sedative he’d ever experienced. It coursed through his system and threatened to drag him under.

Desperate prayers filled his core. Frustration surged through him. His palms pushed futilely against the ground as he tried to get to his feet, but his body would barely move. He couldn’t die like this, not here and not now. He’d almost died once before and had woken up to find his career in jeopardy and Iris gone. The months he’d spent undercover volunteering at the center had been the happiest of his life and Iris had been the reason why. He’d just found her again and couldn’t lose his life in front of her now.

Lord, please don’t let Iris get hurt because of me. Please stop the Jackals for good and make sure every young person they kidnapped for Underwood is found. He tried to open his eyes, but it was like an invisible force was pressing his eyelids down. And have mercy on me, Lord, if this is it. I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this one alive.

The ground shook with the vibrations of a vehicle coming toward him. The rumble of the motor grew louder, he felt wind rush past him, and then tires screeched so close to his head he thought for a moment they were going to drive over him. He heard a vehicle door open and a voice calling to him, breaking through the haze.

“Mack!” Iris shouted. Her footsteps pounded toward him. “Come on, Mack, get up!”

I would if I could.

He forced his eyes open. The side of Iris’s brown-and-white camper was less than three feet away from his head. Then he saw Iris, sprinting across the ground and dropping beside him like a runner stealing home base.

“Get up! Now!” Her voice, sharp and strong, filled his ears.

“I…” He pushed his words sluggishly over his lips. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” she said. “You’ve seen what this sedative does to people. You’ve helped me get them out of gutters, through the door and onto the couch, or into your car to drive to the hospital. And I’ve seen how tough you are firsthand.”

She shoved her shoulder under his arm and hauled him up. He stumbled to his feet.

“Now come on. You did a great job stabbing the Jackal with that dart. He’s run back to his van. Probably started feeling the effects and doesn’t want to pass out on the ground. But he called for backup, and I really don’t want to be here when more Jackals arrive.”

Iris was a force of nature. He’d never known anyone or anything that could stand up to her. He’d seen her forcibly remove disruptive people from the center’s free community meals and help scoop vulnerable youth up off the sidewalk on cold nights and bring them inside to warm up while she found an overnight shelter to take them. And now here she was, half dragging and half helping him across the pavement as he leaned against her.

“I…heard…gunshots…”

“Yup.” She reached the camper and yanked the door open. “He fired at me and missed, probably because of the sedative dart you stuck him with. Which is awesome and thanks again for that, because I really like my truck.”

Mack almost chuckled. Humor in the face of danger was a good quality to have. So was tenacity.

She hauled him through the doorway into the camper and he stumbled in. It was small, with a bunk-size bed set high into the wall on one side. Underneath it was a small table and a cushioned bench. A counter with shelves was adjacent under a large window. A laminated map of Canada covered almost all of the opposite wall, scrawled with words, squiggles and lines. It was the map from her apartment, showing the routes the homeless had taken across Canada. Photographs of some of the street youth who’d come to the homeless center were taped around the corners. He noticed she’d circled the faces of all those they suspected the Jackals had kidnapped but who hadn’t been found in the raids of Underwood’s farms and complexes.

“Are you looking for them?” he asked, mumbling the words.

“Well, I haven’t given up on them.”

His legs bumped against the bench. She gently pushed him to lie down, checking his eyes and his pulse as she did do.

“Sorry to bring you in here and not the truck,” she said, “but my truck’s a lot higher off the ground and I don’t think I can lift you all the way up to get you into the passenger seat. So, you’re going to sleep it off in here and I’m going to get us out of here.”

But his vehicle was parked not ten minutes away, complete with equipment, supplies, weapons and disguises. Plus, he desperately needed to coordinate with his team.

He heard the sound of another vehicle approaching. Iris’s eyes scanned the map.

“Just sleep and trust me,” she said. “I’ll get us to the closest safe place I can and we can regroup from there.”

No, that wasn’t the plan. He was here to talk her into letting witness protection safeguard her, not go on the run with her.

She jumped out and shut the door behind her, leaving him alone in the camper. There was the sound of fresh gunfire and voices shouting.

No, it wasn’t going to go down like this.

He pushed himself up off the bench and stumbled for the door. He wasn’t going to stay in here while she was out there in danger. He heard the truck’s engine roar and then the trailer lurched, yanking the door from his hand, even as he turned the handle. The door swung open in front of him and he fell toward it, barely grabbing the doorframe to keep from falling through as trees rushed past him. Bullets ricocheted against the side of the camper.

He had to help Iris.

Then the camper swerved wildly, he fell back hard against the bench, the door slammed shut and unconsciousness swept over him.

THREE

So far she’d been either savvy enough or blessed enough not to run into any of Underwood’s Jackals. She gripped the steering wheel and allowed herself one quick glance in her side mirror at the van following her. Now she’d left a green-masked Jackal behind in an empty parking lot and had a red-masked one on her tail on an empty Canadian highway. Her truck was probably strong enough to outrun them, but not with the camper attached to the back. Not to mention, a sedated Mack inside.

Her heart stuttered. How had Mack even found her? Why would a man who’d built his entire relationship with her on a false identity and a fake story cross the country and search so long and hard just to talk her into going back into witness protection? She cast another glance at the van behind her. Her chin rose, and she gunned the engine, pushing the truck faster and faster. Her eyes cut to the rearview mirror and the camper behind her. She whispered a prayer under her breath.

Help me, God. Please keep Mack safe.

Then she yanked the steering wheel hard to her right, in a U-turn. The truck spun, and its tires squealed as they slid on the hard-packed snow. She felt the pull of the camper as it spun out behind her, threatening to pull them off the road, and she prayed the trailer hitch wouldn’t break.

The red-masked Jackal was speeding toward her now, head-on, in a game of chicken down the empty highway. She waited, second after second, as he grew closer. Did he think she’d swerve? If so, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

With her left hand, she slipped the gun from her pocket and rolled the window down. The Jackal drew closer, until she could see every line of the snarling animal painted on his mask. He raised his weapon.

She fired first. A single bullet flew from her gun, and his windshield shattered. The van spun off the road and into the snow-filled ditch as she sped by. She held her breath and watched the crashed vehicle in the side mirror until she saw the Jackal stumble from the wreckage. She breathed a prayer of thanksgiving that he’d survived the crash and that she hadn’t killed him.

She fixed her eyes on the road ahead and drove. Within moments, the few remaining scattered buildings of the town had disappeared into the side mirror, leaving nothing but endless tall pine trees and sky spreading ahead.

She started looking for a gap in the woods, until finally she spotted a thin and narrow dirt road jutting out of the trees to her right. She scanned the highway for any sign of a vehicle, and seeing none, she pulled off, weaving down the winding path between dense trees until the highway itself disappeared in the distance.

Only then did she cut the engine, climb out and run back to the trailer. She yanked the door open. Dishes, books and clothing lay scattered across the floor. There in the middle lay Mack. He’d apparently come to long enough to wrap himself up tightly in a warm and heavy wool blanket that she guessed had fallen from her bunk. He snored gently.

“Mack?” She knelt down beside him.

He nodded as if hearing her and smiled slightly, but his eyes stayed closed. His ridiculous facial prosthetic had slipped, making it look like his nose was on an angle. She ran her fingers along the lines of his face, feeling the disguise give slightly under her fingertips. Slowly she pulled the prosthetic off, peeling back the rubbery substance to feel the soft authentic skin of the sweetest, kindest and then ultimately the most upsettingly confusing man she’d ever met underneath.

“Your pulse is still good,” she said. “Your skin isn’t clammy and the fact you’re snoring is a good thing. You probably just need to sleep, but I don’t know if we want to risk it. I’m over an hour from the closest hospital, but I’ll take you there and drop you off at the emergency room.”

“No, no, don’t.” Mack shook his head. His eyes fluttered open. “I’m okay. Just sleepy.”

She sat back on her heels. “Are you sure?”

“We stay together,” he said, and his words came out so slowly she had to fight the urge to interrupt. “You and me. No splitting up. And I only go to public hospitals in an emergency, just in case someone recognizes me and it blows a case.”

She wasn’t sure if she should be taking directions from someone who was barely awake. Or what she thought of him living a life that kept him from getting help if he needed it. Then again, she didn’t have any idea what risks she’d be putting Mack or herself in if she pulled up to a random hospital. If this dart affected him the same as the other ones she’d seen, he’d sleep it off and be back to his normal self soon, and there were definite benefits to staying hidden as long as the Jackals were so close on their tail.

“Okay, well, I’m still going to drive in that general direction,” she said, “and I’ll stop and check in with you every fifteen to twenty minutes. If I see any warning signs or you get worse, I’m speeding there.”

His eyes closed again, as if somehow that satisfied him. “Okay, and my team will help.”

Only his team wasn’t here, and she had no idea how to contact them.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know,” he said, “you’re Iris.” He rolled over and, in a moment, resumed snoring.

She stood slowly. Had she really just promised to take care of this man after everything he’d done? Somehow it felt so natural to talk to him like one of the people at her homeless center back in Toronto. Even if she now didn’t know if any of his stories about growing up in struggle and poverty, like she had, were real.

Her heart ached, wondering how the acting manager and volunteers at the center were coping without her at the helm. She prayed for the day all this would be over and she’d be able to go back to her normal life. She started tidying up the camper. She’d leave worrying about what to do for Mack for last.

“Why did you go to the trouble of becoming my friend?” she asked him. “You know me. I would’ve told anyone who listened what the street youth were saying about Underwood and the Jackals. You could’ve shown up at my door dressed like a cop, flashed your badge and I’d have told you everything. Instead, you wormed your way into my life. We spent hours together every day, working at the center, praying together, going out for food and telling stories about our lives—stories that I don’t even know are true anymore. You became the best friend I ever had. Why would you do that to me?”

But Mack snored gently and didn’t answer.

Mack slept fitfully, barely able to open his eyes for more than moments at a time before the pressing fatigue swept over him again. Iris’s reassuring voice floated in and out at the edges of his mind. Soft warmth surrounded him now; Iris had somehow pulled the mattress of her bunk onto the floor and helped him roll onto it before sticking a pillow under his head and practically burying him in blankets. He was vaguely aware of the vehicle moving for a while and then stopping again. Iris popped in to offer him water, reminded him to stay hydrated and chatted to him briefly before leaving again and going back to driving.

She’d definitely been attentive, but in a way that wasn’t over-the-top. Instead, he just felt safe and also guilty that the woman he’d hurt and come looking for was now taking care of him.

There’d been no more Jackal sightings, from what he’d heard of Iris’s 911 call. She’d kept her description of the attempted abduction anonymous and vague. He’d barely been able to sit up, let alone contact his team. There were probably at least two Jackals on the loose, one of whom he was fairly certain was the same man who’d tried to break into Iris’s apartment two months ago.

The fact Iris had brought her map of the country with her certainly explained how she’d managed to stay hidden for so long and how she’d managed to stay off the grid. It was also a testimony to the close and trusting relationships she’d developed with people at the homeless center over the years. It was smart and he was impressed, but it was nothing compared to the life and safety he and his team would be able to provide Iris when she went back into witness protection.

Not that he’d done a very good job of convincing her so far. But he’d spent his life moving in the shadows, pretending to be the kind of man he wasn’t and convincing the worst of thugs to turn against their bosses and criminals to trust him with their secrets. How difficult could it be to convince a spunky, kindhearted, talkative social worker to go back into witness protection?

The camper stopped again. His eyes opened and he sat up, his head finally feeling clear. Darkness filled the windows. A battery-operated alarm clock told him it was just past nine o’clock at night, and a soft buffeting sound against the windows told him the snow had started again.

The door swung open, bringing a fresh blast of February air with it. A light shone briefly in his eyes, before the beam dropped to the floor at Iris’s feet.

“Mack,” she said softly. “You’re up.”

“Pretty much,” he said. “How long was I out?”

“Almost two hours,” she said.

He blinked as the time on the clock finally sank in. His team hadn’t heard from him since he’d run out of the diner to follow Iris. He was now a two-hour drive from his truck and its small cache of weapons, disguises, food rations, all the best electronic gadgets an undercover detective could need and a bag of essentials for Iris for when he found her. He ran his hand over his head, vaguely aware that she’d pulled the itchy prosthetics off his face. The glue that had been holding them on remained like scar tissue.

Lord, I’m really thankful that she managed to get us out of there alive. If it hadn’t been for her quick thinking, we could both be dead right now. But please help me get this mission back on track pronto.

Iris set the flashlight on the counter, directing it toward him like a spotlight, locked the door and knelt beside him. At some point since escaping the diner, she’d yanked a pair of jeans on underneath the skirt of her waitress uniform, and the soft flashlight glow sent golden highlights dancing along the maple brown hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders. His breath caught. How was she even more beautiful than he’d remembered?

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Thirsty and a bit sore, but good, everything considered,” Mack said. “Thank you so much for getting us out of there alive and managing to hide well enough that the Jackals apparently haven’t tracked us.” He rolled his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. “Where are we now?”

“Outside some kind of a farming complex.” She frowned. “The map is a bit hit-and-miss. I’d gotten the impression from the kids who told me about it that Crow’s Farm was the kind of place they could camp at while they pitched in a few days to make some honest cash. Some of them were talking about it as a safe alternative to working at one of Underwood’s places.” She shrugged. “But I built this map on rumors and gossip, not facts. Sometimes it lets me down, and this is one of those times. Crow’s Farm isn’t a farm. It’s basically a big walled complex with some greenhouse-type buildings inside. But there’s a pretty big campground less than an hour from here we can try next.”

Mack grabbed both of her hands in his, feeling the familiar softness of her fingertips. “Or you can stop running and risking your life,” he said. “Let my team bring you in and go back into witness protection.”

She sat back on her heels and pulled her hands away. “Because the police were such great listeners when I was trying to get someone to believe that Oscar Underwood was abducting people and forcing them to work at his farms?” she asked. “Or because witness protection did such a great job of protecting me?”

Okay, maybe he should’ve been prepared for this. Iris had always been headstrong and both local and federal police had let her down in different ways. But what she didn’t know was the incredible work his team had done since the witness protection files were breached and how they’d quickly found new lives for people whose identities had been auctioned off.

He ran his hand over his face. “You don’t have a lot of faith in the cops.”

“I have absolutely no faith in the cops.” She crossed her arms. “Police brushed me off, time and time again, and did nothing to help protect young people from Underwood and his Jackals.”

“That’s not true.” Mack grabbed the counter and stood, feeling his back straighten and shoulders broaden as he did so. “At least one cop took you very seriously. Me. The RCMP was well aware that local police, for whatever reason, weren’t taking the claims against Underwood seriously. So, I went undercover to find out if there was any truth to the rumors. I’m really sorry the local cops were dismissive of you—of us—all those times I went and filed reports with you.” He scowled. “Believe me, as a detective, it really got under my skin to see you brushed off like that. But at the same time, you also have to realize just how kooky you sounded when you claimed men in ski masks with animal faces painted on were abducting homeless youth. Not to mention how often people like the kind you care for in your homeless center lie to police. Those in authority were right to be skeptical. None of those missing kids even gave you their real names. Or called you by yours, for that matter. When you asked them to call you either ‘Iris’ or ‘Miss James,’ they called you ‘Missy.’”

“Now you sound just like a cop.” She pushed herself to her feet. “And somehow now you look like a cop, too. The Mack I knew had this way of standing that made me feel relaxed and safe. He never stood with his chest all puffed out like that.”

Well, she’d never challenged his authority before. Or prevented him from trying to save her.

“If I look like a cop, it’s because I am one,” he said. “I’m an RCMP detective and have been in law enforcement for a decade. And in case you missed it, I just said local police were wrong to dismiss you the way they did, even if they were right to be skeptical. I’d still really like to know if it was just inherent bias against the homeless or if something more nefarious was going on. Oscar Underwood and his henchmen got away with too much for too long unchecked. But the RCMP had a whole investigation into Oscar Underwood, and your assistance was vital in that.”

“My assistance?” She shot the words back at him. “You pretended to be my friend.”

“I was your friend!” His voice filled the camper.

“I thought you were dead!” Her voice matched his. “Do you know what it’s like to think someone you care about has been murdered?”

Yeah, he did. Although in his case, they had actually died and stayed dead. He’d lost a couple of fellow officers and a more than a few informants in his work with the RCMP, which was why he never let himself get close to anyone he met undercover. Well, until Iris somehow burrowed her way under his defenses. He swallowed a breath and forced his voice to lower.

“I’m unbelievably sorry about that,” he said. “And I would’ve contacted you the moment I was out of intensive care, only by then you were already in witness protection and I wasn’t allowed to contact you or know anything about where you were placed. Then when I heard your file was compromised and you’d disappeared off the grid, I was worried sick. I know there’s nothing I can say to make up for how I hurt you,” he went on. “But while I didn’t tell you some things as part of my investigation, I never lied to you about who I was as a person or the man I am inside. You have no idea how hard I worked to find you and make sure you were safe.”

“How did you even find me?” she asked.

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “When the files were stolen and auctioned off online, a few RCMP officers and a hacker came together as a secret task force to take the criminals down. I’d only been out of the hospital a few weeks and was still not allowed to return to regular work.” Suspended. That was the word he should say but somehow couldn’t get past his lips. “Two of my colleagues stopped the auction, but not before eighteen identities were sold. We then focused our attention on helping those whose identities had been compromised. Most were easy to track down and relocate into new lives. Others, like you, were a lot harder to find.”

Something hardened in her eyes. “That didn’t answer my question.”

Yeah, she’d never been one for accepting vague answers. Or giving up easily.

“I called in every favor I could think of,” he admitted. “Specifically I talked to a lot of criminals. I’ve been an undercover detective for a very long time and have met hundreds of unsavory people. My colleague Liam took the other side of the coin and talked to a lot of cops. A lot of people in law enforcement owe him a favor. Our hacker, Seth, ran online searches. When we’d gathered enough data points, I got in my truck and drove and started tracking you in the good old-fashioned, boots-on-the-ground way.”

He hadn’t slept in days and hadn’t stopped thinking of her once since the moment they’d last said goodbye.

“And why?” Iris demanded. “So I’d go back into witness protection? Because that’s not going to happen.”

“You were just attacked by two Jackals!”

She glared at him. “What’s to say you didn’t lead them to me?”

He stepped back against the wall and gritted his teeth to keep from pointing out that wasn’t possible. He’d spent his entire career infiltrating heinous organizations and he did it by remaining inconspicuous, not by getting himself followed by masked men. The only time he’d ever come close to blowing his cover was when he’d chased after the green-masked Jackal who’d been spying on her. And for all the criminal had known, Mack had just been a really concerned friend. He might not know Mack was a cop even now.

“If you knew Jackals were tracking me,” she added, “why didn’t you just arrest them?”

“Because, one, even if that was as easy as you just made it sound, I’m not the kind of cop who does the arrests,” he said. “I’m the undercover kind who pretends to be a really, really bad guy in order to gather the evidence needed for other cops to sweep in and arrest the real bad guys. I pretend to be the kind of man you’d never want to meet.” And that was a side of him he hoped she’d never see. “That means never blowing my cover. Second, I hadn’t actually seen either of those Jackals this time around, until one of them was attacking and sedating me, and once that happened, keeping us both alive became the highest priority. And trust me, I’d have known if I was being followed. Finally, I’ve been suspended—”

Mack cut his eyes to the walls around him to keep from having to meet her gaze in the darkness. But it didn’t prevent him from hearing Iris gasp as if someone had knocked the air from her lungs.

“The night we last saw each other,” he said slowly, “there was a Jackal in a green, camo-colored mask hanging around outside your apartment. He was looking in your bedroom window, holding a tranquilizer gun. I was pretty sure he was going to abduct you.” He huffed out a breath. “Also, I’m fairly certain it was the same one who attacked us back at the diner. I don’t tend to forget anyone I’ve tangled with, even if they’re masked. From hands to build to shoulders to voice, there are a lot of ways my brain tends to remember people like that beyond just their face. Anyway, I wasn’t supposed to engage, not unless your life was in imminent danger. But instead I chased him down and got shot for my trouble. I’m under internal review as to what went wrong. I’m not allowed to do anything to impact the Oscar Underwood investigation. And I only retained my authorization to carry a gun due to the sheer number of criminals out there who want me dead.”

He resisted the urge to point out she’d been running pretty close to the gray line of Canada’s handgun laws when she’d pulled a weapon on him for startling her earlier, not that he suspected any right-thinking officer would prosecute her over it.

“So you weren’t assigned to track me down?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “In fact, coming to find you like this could further complicate my suspension. But I’m hoping if any of the higher-ups are unhappy with me for looking for you, the fact that I was actually able to find you and hopefully get you back into witness protection and in court for Oscar Underwood’s trial will smooth that over.”

“And if I don’t go back into witness protection?” she asked.

Then I risked my badge for nothing but the knowledge you were okay. The words crossed his mind, but he stopped himself from speaking them. “At least we’ll know that we’re each safe and still alive, and maybe this time we can say goodbye properly.”

Sudden light flooded the camper as if someone was shining a bright light in every window at once.

“Get out of the camper! Hands up!” The voice was male, loud and exuded the kind of malice Mack had heard too many times before. “Now! Or we’re coming in!”

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