The coroner says he might have been saved if the driver of the other vehicle would have stopped. Helped him.

  Her mind had sort of shut down at that point in the call. She hadn’t remembered anything Mrs. Reynolds had said after that.

  Until now.

  …fatal accident the night before last….

  And as she thought back, she realized with a curl of anxiety in her chest that Ian would have been there that night to meet with Cal Reynolds.

  Mac knew of only one way he could get out of the prison. And he didn’t have time to think it through.

  Desperate, he bit his lip until it bled. With blood running out of his mouth and down his chin, he leaned against his cell door, pounding and yelling for help.

  He heard Eagan’s footsteps as he rushed to the door. Saw the concern on his face as he looked inside the barred window just as Mac’s knees buckled and he dropped to his back on the floor.

  “McKenzie!” Eagan yelled, tripping the mechanism to open the cell door.

  He hurried inside and went down on a knee beside Mac.

  Eyes closed, Mac moaned. “My … head. Exploding. Get … the doc,” he whispered weakly and pressed flattened palms against his temples.

  “Hold on.” Sounding alarmed, Eagan pulled out his shoulder receiver and called the infirmary.

  “It’s McKenzie. He’s having another episode. This one seems worse than the last. He must have bit his tongue because he’s bleeding.”

  Mac rolled to his side, moaning and faking pain. Then he waited, the concrete floor cold against his back. The taste of his own blood metallic on his tongue. It wasn’t long before Dr. Myles rushed through the door and into his cell bringing the antiseptic scent of the infirmary with him.

  “McKenzie. Can you hear me?”

  Mac groaned, still holding his head. “Can’t … can’t stand it.”

  The doctor pried open an eyelid and Mac roared as if the action ramped up his pain.

  Myles pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “It’s Dr. Myles,” he said when his call was answered. “I’ve got a critical situation here. I need permission to transport and an ambulance.”

  Mac gasped and pulled his knees to his chest, listening as the doctor relayed his name, prisoner number and the location of his cell.

  Less than five minutes later, Mac was handcuffed to a stretcher that was rolling out of the prison building. Cool air hit his face as the EMT’s quickly loaded him into a waiting ambulance. In addition to the two EMT’s – one driving and one in back applying oxygen, checking his vitals and inserting an IV line, Eagan and another armed guard, Maynard, if Mac remembered correctly, accompanied him.

  The sirens didn’t shut down until twenty minutes later when they pulled into the ambulance bay of the Manhattan Surgical Hospital.

  Still feigning extreme pain and the inability to understand or comply with the simplest requests to blink, or nod or even move his hand, they wheeled him into the emergency room. The ER doctor took a quick look at the chart that Dr Myles had sent along and immediately shipped him away for a CAT scan.

  When the elevator arrived on the X-ray floor, Mac squinted through pinched eyelids as a male technician, dressed in blue from his Crocs to his skull cap, met them just inside the automatic double doors. He’d guess the tech was young, mid-twenties, and about Mac’s height and build. He considered it an omen. The first good one he’d had since this entire debacle started.

  “He can’t have the cuffs on for the scan,” the tech told Eagan. “No metal. Besides, he doesn’t look to me like he’s in any condition to try anything.”

  Eagan exchanged a look with Maynard. “Go ahead,” he said and unlocked and removed the hand cuffs.

  “It’s going to take a few minutes to set up the machine,” the tech told them. “And you can’t be in the room while we set up or do the scan.”

  “There any other doors in or out of there?” Eagan asked.

  “Nope. One way in. One way out.”

  “We’ll be right outside then.”

  The tech nodded and unlocked the brakes on the stretcher. “It’ll take about twenty to thirty minutes if everything goes well. Longer if the machine is touchy. I’ll bring him out when we’re finished.”

  Eagan sat down on a chair just outside the door. Maynard crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. And waited.

  Ten minutes came and went. During that time another tech walked out of the room, a mask covering his lower face. Head down, he whistled under his breath, absently jiggling a set of keys in one hand while concentrating on a chart on a clipboard as he walked down the hall to the exit door.

  Eagan watched him go, shifted in his chair. Checked the clock again. Another ten minutes had passed. Then another.

  At the forty-minute mark, Eagan was way past antsy.

  A woman dressed in scrubs walked down the hall toward them.

  “Excuse me, ma‘am,” he said, stopping her. “We’ve got a prisoner in there.” He hitched a thumb toward the CT scan room. “It’s been over forty-minutes. Can you check inside for me and see what’s going on?”

  “Forty minutes?” She tilted her head, considering. “I’d give it a little longer. If I go in now and the test is still in progress, I’m risking radiation poisoning and the interruption could affect the test. CT machines are very delicate.”

  “And there’s no way anyone could have gotten out a second door?” Eagan asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope. Relax. You’re good. Could be another ten to fifteen minutes if the machine is being temperamental. And they often are.”

  “Thanks,” Eagan said and sat back down.

  He checked the wall clock again, sighed heavily and started counting down another fifteen minutes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachael curled up in a big overstuffed armchair with her tea and her laptop. Then she prayed she had internet service.

  When she tried to connect, a free park service WiFi popped up, no password required. Feeling a mix of guilt and curiosity, she looked up Cal Reynolds, his hometown and typed in ‘obituary’.

  When it came up, she read it with a grim sense of foreboding. He’d been a handsome young man. A great, infectious smile. Tears stung her eyes as she thought of the horrible circumstances of his death. How sad to be struck down in his prime. How grotesque that someone had run him off the road and not stopped to help him.

  Surely it had been an accident. Maybe the other driver had been drunk and was afraid of doing prison time and that’s why they hadn’t stopped. From everything she read in the obituary and had heard in his grieving mother’s voice, he didn’t have any enemies. More, he’d been everyone’s friend.

  And Ian had been there the day he died.

  Knowing she shouldn’t dwell on it, she closed the obituary and despite telling herself it was a bad idea, did a search on Megan Simmons Hughes. The picture, the likeness to her, the fact that Ian had lied about being married, had been working on her, niggling away in the back of her mind, telling her that there was more she needed to know.

  At first nothing came up. Then she googled wedding, Ian Hughes, Megan Simmons and bingo, she got something. But it wasn’t an article on their wedding. It was another obituary, complete with the same photograph of Megan Simmons Hughes that Ian carried in his wallet.

  Her heart stalled, then started up again in an unsteady rush. She almost spilled her tea as she clicked on the link. And held her breath as she read.

  …Our beloved daughter, Megan, was called to heaven after a fatal car crash that resulted in ending her life…

  Rachael felt suspended somewhere between shock and disbelief as she continued reading about the accomplished and much loved Megan, who had been taken from earth far too soon.

  She quickly scanned the rest of the obituary until she got to the end.

  …Megan is survived by her parents, Virginia and David Simmons. Memorials can be sent to the Methodist Church of Little Valley…

  She stopped. Blinked. Confused. There was no mention of Ian. Maybe they were already divorced when she died and her parents didn’t wish to mention Ian in the obituary.

  Ian had said that their marriage was a disaster.

  ‘Do you still care about her?’

  He’d dodged that question, she realized. Understandable. He’d cared for her enough to marry her. Even though they’d parted ways, it still had to have been painful for him that she’d died.

  In a car accident, a little voice kept repeating. Like Cal Reynolds had died.

  She rubbed her eyes. Stretched. Told herself she was being ridiculous and if she’d minded her own business, she wouldn’t be sitting here imagining worse case scenarios about a man who had been nothing short of wonderful to her and Addie.

  It was because of everything that had happened in her life of late. She missed Mac. She was terrified that she was going to lose him. So uncertain of his decisions to cut her out of his life. Horrified that they had found themselves in this position – him accused of murder and awaiting a court-martial. Everything spooked her these days. And why not. Her life had been turned upside down. Mac, the love of her life, faced the rest of his days in prison.

  Then there was Ian. Always helpful. Always patient and kind. And yet …

  She sat, her fingers poised again over on the keys, telling herself not to do it. To leave things alone. In the end, though, she couldn’t stop herself.

  She googled Captain Ian E. Hughes, US Army and immediately found a recent article in the U.S. Army Daily News.

  Her hands trembled as they hovered over the keyboard. Finally, she opened the link and read the article, then read it again, thinking it must be about another Ian Hughes. Because none of it made any sense.

  She looked up. Stared out the window, then at her sleeping daughter. And fought an unreasonable and growing feeling that she and Addie weren’t safe here.

  Once he cleared the doorway on the X-ray floor, Mac found the nearest stairwell. He didn’t look back. Didn’t think about what would happen if Eagan suddenly realized that his prisoner had just walked by him in the hallway, jingling a set of keys as a distraction, head down and wearing blue Crocs and scrubs, his face covered with a mask, his head covered with a skull cap.

  Taking the steps two at a time, he raced toward the ground floor. The tech had been easy to overpower. The instant the doors had closed behind them, he’d bolted up off the stretcher. Surprise was on his side as he covered the tech’s mouth with his hand and applied pressure on the jugular. The guy was out in a matter of seconds. With luck he’d stay out for the better part of an hour.

  Quickly ripping out the IV, he’d dragged the tech into a corner of the room. Then he’d stripped off his prison uniform, relieved the tech of his blue scrubs and scrambled into them. Luck was on his side and he found a set of car keys in the pocket of the pants.

  With his adrenaline pumping off the charts, he burst outside of the disinfectant smelling hospital, into the sunlight and clean fresh air of a chilly winter day. He headed for the back of the hospital and staff parking at a trot and pushed the alarm button on the key fob.

  A horn beeped and the lights started flashing on a newer model Jeep.

  Without looking back, without second guessing his gut decision to believe what he’d seen in his dreams, he sprinted across the lot to the Jeep, jumped inside and headed out. He needed to get home. Get to Rachael and Addie. And he’d only have a small head start before Eagan realized he was gone.

  Rachael paced back and forth in front of the fire as she waited to hear her phone ringing Cassie’s number. All she got was a false busy signal. She tried again. Nothing.

  She quickly dialed her next door neighbor. Got the same thing.

  Ian had called out. He hadn’t had any problem.

  Or had he? Had he really called back to Manhattan and talked to someone… or had he faked a call?

  And if so, why? There was no good reason for her to think that. To suddenly be frightened of Ian. Ian, who was like a brother.

  Lord. She did not want to be thinking this way. But the disparity in his story about Megan Simmons. The fact that she was dead. The unusual circumstances surrounding Cal Reynolds’ death. And then there was the US Army News article.

  Congratulations are in order for Captain Ian Hughes on his early retirement this month.

  She’d only skimmed the rest of the article. Just to make certain it was Ian they were writing about. His photograph at the bottom of the page left no doubt. And the date on the article – two weeks after Mac had been imprisoned in Leavenworth – had her heart doing cartwheels.

  Retired? Over a month ago? Yet he still came to the house wearing his BDU. Still maintained that he lived in the officer’s quarters at Ft. Riley.

  Had she slipped into the Twilight Zone somewhere along the way and not realized it? Had the world tilted on its axis and thrown her into an alternate universe where her husband had committed murder and her best friend had lied to her from the moment she’d seen him again?

  Was she right to be suddenly afraid of Ian even though she had no concrete reason? Deep in her gut, however, she knew that something was terribly wrong. And she knew that she and Addie might be in a kind of peril she hadn’t yet made peace with and didn’t yet know how to process.

  The inconsistencies ran over and over again in her head like a news feed. Ian had lied about his marriage. And his ex-wife, who looked extraordinarily like her, was dead. Cal Reynolds, her best possible lead on what happened in Afghanistan, also dead – while Ian was there questioning him.

  Now this. Ian appeared to be retired from the Army even though he presented himself as active duty.

  Mac had given up. Cut off all contact with her.

  A chilling thought struck her. Maybe Mac really hadn’t initiated that distance. Ian had visited him more often than she had because she’d had to work during visiting hours most days and because Ian was so close since he was living at Ft. Riley. At least that’s where she thought he’d been living. She remembered a business card for a Manhattan motel that had fallen out of his wallet. She hadn’t thought anything of it, but now … it added another piece of the puzzle. Could he have … would he have convinced Mac to give up? So that … what?

  Mac said I should encourage you to get the divorce.

  Mac said that I should marry you.

  Mac said that I should adopt Addie.

  No, she thought, shaking her head and paced some more. Ian wouldn’t manipulate Mac like that. What reason would he have to push Mac out of the picture?

  It wasn’t as if he loved her and was jealous.

  She stopped her pacing.

  Oh, my God. Was that it? Surely, that wasn’t what this was all about? Ian was in love with her? Megan had been a substitute? And he had to get Mac out of the way?

  I had your name but never your heart.

  Fear shot through her like a thunder bolt. And she no longer cared if she was crazy or right or wrong. There were too many odd coincidences. Too many unanswered questions. She only knew that she had to get Addie out of here as soon as possible.

  Mac circled the block once then parked three houses down. He glanced around the neighborhood, a knot of longing coiled in his chest as he realized how much he missed home. Missed parking in his driveway, walking inside his house and kissing Rachael and Addie hello. Shoveling snow. Chipping ice off the driveway. Mowing the lawn. Life.

  He couldn’t think about that now. And he couldn’t doubt his conclusions or his dreams that had finally filled in the blanks. Ian, for some unknown reason had framed him. He’d killed a man and blamed it on him. He still didn’t know why but more and more he was afraid it had something to do with Rachael. And Mac was running on borrowed time.

  It was mid-afternoon. The street was quiet. It was a Saturday and even though most of the neighbors wouldn’t be working, they were probably running errands, or napping. Even if he were spotted, no one would be looking for him. At least he hoped they weren’t looking yet.

  Ditching the skull cap, he shouldered open the Jeep’s door and slipped out into the cold. Looking neither left nor right he walked down the sidewalk, past their house and around the corner. Once he was on the opposite side of the block, he cut through the narrow alleyway and headed for his back yard.

  They always kept a spare key on the back deck, under a pot containing an evergreen. Praying that Rachael hadn’t moved it, he tipped one corner of the pot, felt underneath, and hit the jackpot. Without hesitating, he went to the sliders, inserted the key and let himself inside.

  The scent that greeted him weakened his knees. Home. Rachael. Baby powder. Love.

  “Rachael,” he said softly into the quiet house.

  No answer. While he hadn’t expected one, he’d still held out hope that she and Addie would be there. He moved swiftly through the living room, peeked into Addie’s empty room and made himself leave her baby sweet fragrance and walk directly into their bedroom.

  An image of them lying together under the covers, whispering and laughing and making love weakened his knees. But he brutally pushed it aside. Studied the room. Everything was neat and tidy. Nothing out of place. Nothing that looked like any sort of distress.

  He backtracked to the kitchen, opened the pantry door and checked the calendar Rachael always kept notes and appointments on.

  “Yes, I know I can use my phone calendar but I like seeing my schedule and yours and birthdays written down on the wall. It’s old-fashioned but I’m an old-fashioned girl.”

  Mac could still see her defiant grin when he’d teased her about being low tech.

  Now he was glad she wrote her work schedule down where he could see it. And no, according to the calendar, she wasn’t scheduled to work today or tomorrow.

  He headed back to the bedroom, searched through the closet and saw that her overnight bag was gone. And gut deep, he knew that Ian had gotten her out of town as soon as Mac had confronted him about what had happened in Afghanistan.