Adrift (Shenandoah Shadows #11)

Chapter 1

One

Marielle climbed the goat path carved into the hillside above the cove.

Adrenaline pushed her forward, urging her to hurry.

Hurry. Get away from the men with the guns.

Loose rocks skittered underfoot, and caution pulled her back, warning her to slow down before she lost her footing on the narrow trail.

She settled into a measured but brisk pace and called up a detailed map of the fishing village and its surroundings.

It had been nearly two decades since she’d visited.

Many of the people and places she remembered would have changed—or would be gone entirely.

But she only needed one. And that one, a village institution, would still be there. It had to be.

And if it wasn’t?

Don’t, she scolded herself. Don’t allow uncertainties and unknowns to derail you. Never allow what could be to blur the clear picture of what is.

Behind her, Hanna was either gasping for breath or sobbing quietly. Given the woman’s high-intensity running routine, Marielle was pretty sure it was the latter. She paused and twisted around to catch Omar’s eye over Hanna’s head. Instinctively, they’d sandwiched the asset between them.

“Let’s take a break,” Marielle suggested.

Omar frowned, and she tilted her head toward Hanna. His gaze fell on her narrow, shaking shoulders. After a beat, he nodded.

He raised the binoculars and scanned the glass-flat sea. “I don’t see anyone out there. We can rest. For a minute.”

Marielle led Hanna through the patches of wild herbs sprouting up in the limestone soil along the coast. Lavender scented the still air, while its less bold cousins, rosemary and thyme, swayed in the breeze. Hanna stumbled but caught herself when they stepped onto a rocky ledge.

Marielle stopped in front of a flat outcropping and gently guided Hanna to a seat before settling beside her. Even as she lowered herself onto the boulder, Marielle strained, listening hard for a distant boat motor or the crack of a gun.

Omar squatted on his heels in front of them. “Hanna, look at me.”

His deep, measured voice calmed Marielle, quieting her jangled nerves, even though he wasn’t talking to her. He had that effect on her.

Hanna looked up, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Being chased and shot at would rattle anyone. You kept it together when you needed to. Go ahead and let it hit you now, before we have to move again.”

Hanna’s face slackened, and for an instant, it seemed she might take Omar up on his offer. But the moment passed.

Instead of breaking down, Hanna forced a shaky laugh. “The jet skis were actually exhilarating. But I can’t believe…” She trailed off.

“You can’t believe your boyfriend’s bodyguards would shoot at you?”

“No. That, I believe.” Her voice tightened. “I can’t believe you risked your lives to help me. Who are you? I mean, really?”

A long, loaded silence passed between Marielle and Omar.

“We’re people who don’t leave civilians on yachts with armed men,” Marielle said, giving Omar a look that said feel free to jump in any time.

“So you’re not civilians?”

“We work for a private contractor. A federal agency hired our company.”

“CIA?” Hanna guessed.

Marielle didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Omar cleared his throat. “We weren’t told.”

“Were you hired to rescue me?”

“Not exactly,” Marielle hedged.

Hanna frowned. “What exactly were you hired to do?”

She deserved the truth. Marielle just hoped she could handle it.

“We were hired to infiltrate the yacht and find sensitive information that had been left there by an asset,” Marielle explained.

“Not to exfiltrate the asset?” Hanna asked, her voice brittle.

“No, that wasn’t our mission,” Omar confirmed. “But Marielle and I weren’t going to leave you on that boat.”

He raised the binoculars and scanned the coastline again, his broad shoulders tense, bunched near his ears. “We need to keep moving.”

Marielle stood and offered Hanna her canteen. “Water?”

She shook her head. “I’m good.” Her gaze sharpened. “Your name is Marielle?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m Omar.”

“Not Margaux and Oscar,” Hanna murmured. “Marielle and Omar.”

“Always use a name similar to your real one,” Omar said. “Gives you time to catch yourself if you slip.”

Hanna wasn’t listening. She stared out across the hillside with a thoughtful expression.

Finally, she stood. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t leave the information for you to find.”

“That was a smart play on your part,” Omar told her.

“It wasn’t a strategic decision. I was scared. Once my handler went dark on me, I wasn’t sure anyone would have my back if things went south.” Hanna laughed. “Turns out I was right.”

Omar flashed Marielle a look. She nodded. Their asset had leverage, and she knew it.

As they headed back through the grass toward the path, Marielle spoke in a low, urgent voice. “We’re going to help you, no matter what. But the information you have is clearly important. Will you tell us what you know?”

Hanna twitched her mouth to the side and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Then she tilted her head, bemused.

“I’m not sure yet.”

She edged past them and continued up the hillside, her footing sure and steady.

They watched her stride away and were silent for a moment.

Then Marielle whispered a string of French profanity.

“You can say that again.” Omar nudged her shoulder with his. “Come on. We have to keep her close. She might think she’s safe now, but…”

But she wasn’t. None of them were.

There were two foolproof ways to keep Hanna from telling them what she knew: kill her, or kill them.