foot, she screamed and kicked harder.
Before he could catch up again, the lights flashed on. Blinded, Kathryn kept flailing toward the far side of the pool.
Seconds later, a voice boomed over the water. “What the hell’s going on in here?”
Reaching the ladder, Kathryn gave a heartfelt cry of thanks and scrambled up. But she didn’t get any farther. As the air hit her body, she crumpled and lay panting on the cold cement. In the glow from the overhead lights, all her eyes could make out was an indistinct figure standing in the doorway.
“Listen up. You’d better have a good explanation, or I’m going to call the police.”
Even with the echo bouncing off the walls, she recognized the voice. It was Mr. Clemson, the building superintendent. “God, yes, call the police,” she croaked.
A flash of movement on the other side of the pool made her cringe toward the wall. She saw James vault out of the water, hurtle toward Clemson, and pause to give him a mighty shove before charging through the door and disappearing.
The building superintendent went sprawling and landed hard on his bottom.
Barely finding her legs, Kathryn wobbled toward the wall phone near the door and dialed 911.
Chapter One
She was in a prison.
No, she had chosen to come to this place called Stratford Creek on a deserted stretch of Western Maryland road, where the mountain scenery took your breath away and the security was tight as a federal penitentiary. But she wasn’t a prisoner. She could leave any time she wanted, Kathryn Kelley reminded herself as the door to the cell-like gatehouse slammed closed behind her.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Emerson,” she said, addressing a man in gray slacks and a blue shirt who stood behind a low counter. He was muscular, with a square jaw, square shoulders, and a crew cut. His unobtrusive plastic tag said his name was McCourt, and he kept his steely gaze fixed on her.
“Please hand me your purse and step through the metal detector.” He waved toward the security entrance that had become a fact of life in today’s security-conscious world.
Kathryn complied, then watched him paw through the contents of her pocketbook as if he thought her lipstick was a miniaturized bomb. Satisfied, he handed back the purse and gestured toward a small wooden table. “You’re on the schedule. Have a seat. May I see two forms of identification?”
“Of course,” she answered, trying to match the coolness of his voice. But she felt a little tremor in her hand as she pulled out the chair behind the table and sat down.
He’s just using standard intimidation techniques, she told herself. But she wasn’t in good enough shape to keep from reacting. At least he hadn’t searched her for hidden weapons.
When she thumbed her driver’s license out of her wallet, he made her wait with it in her outstretched hand while he reached to get a clipboard from the wall behind him. As he turned, she saw the bulge of a gun riding discreetly at his waist.
Feeling like she’d caught him with his fly open, she looked quickly away and unfolded the e-mail she’d received yesterday evening. “This is my authorization letter from Mr. Emerson,” she said, handing it across the desk.
In fact, it was one of the strangest job offers she’d ever received—and accepted. While she’d be temporarily working for the Defense Department, the orders didn’t specify exactly what her duties would be, although she’d been assured during several phone interviews that her background and experience were perfect for the assignment.
As McCourt perused the printout of the e-mail, she tried to gather her composure. Any other time, she would have been better prepared for his subtle little power game. But she was still trying to cope with the aftermath of the attack in the swimming pool, the police interviews, and the dawning realization that Baltimore’s finest couldn’t guarantee her safety. Her attacker, James Harrison, was still at large, probably in the area. The Illinois authorities hadn’t warned her he was coming because they’d thought he was dead. Apparently, he’d set fire to the maximum-security unit at the hospital where he was being held and escaped in the confusion, making sure there was a body in his bunk burned beyond recognition.
After almost killing her in the Cecil Arms pool, Harrison had disappeared into the night, and she had gone downstairs to her apartment only long enough to pack some clothes. For the past two weeks, she’d been staying with various friends and shutting