Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

Jenna turned away, estimating the distance to the nearest police car. She wondered if her legs would carry her that far. Probably not fast enough to outrun a burst from Cray’s machine gun.

“Jenna!” His voice was nearly drowned out by the rotor wash and engine noise, but she heard him repeat the same exhortation he had made twelve hours earlier. “We’re not going to hurt you!”

Why not? She wondered. Why haven’t you killed me already?

Noah’s whispered warning to the deputy echoed again in her head. Those men are not federal agents. You absolutely must not let them put my daughter in their vehicle.

Zack had showed no interest in winning her trust, and Cort had made it clear that the government wanted her dead, no matter the consequences. Cray had tried to capture her alive, and now he was driving the police back, providing cover for her to…what exactly?

“Get in!” Cray’s shout was louder, probably because the helicopter was just a few feet above the ground, a few feet from where she knelt, statue still.

If they had wanted her dead, they would have killed her already, which meant…

We’re not going to hurt you.

But Cray had shot Noah.

Not federal agents.

Then who the hell are you?

There was another report, but it wasn’t from Cray’s gun. The single staccato pop—like a distant firecracker—had come from the outer perimeter. Cray jerked back as something struck the side of the fuselage, too close for comfort. Then he swiveled his weapon in the direction of the new threat.

Jenna couldn’t believe the police would try to bring the helicopter down. Trying to shoot the tires out of a speeding car was one thing, but there was no telling how much damage an out-of-control helicopter might cause if it crashed. As more shots tore into the air, she realized that she had made two incorrect assumptions. The first was that it was the police shooting. It wasn’t. It was Cort’s friends from the safe house. The second assumption was worse. They weren’t shooting at the helicopter—they were shooting at her.

That simplified things.

She met Cray’s eyes, nodded to signal her intention and then waited for him to fire another long burst. As soon as the gun fell silent, she leaped up and threw herself past Cray and into the helicopter.

She heard Cray, or maybe it was someone else, shouting, “We’ve got her. Go! Go!” Then something like an invisible hand pressed her down against the deck. The helicopter ascended, and judging by the g-forces pushing against her and the strident whine of the turbine engines, it was rising fast.

She waited, unmoving, curious to see the consequences of her choice. Would they slap handcuffs on her? Inject her with a tranquilizer? Or simply hold her at gunpoint while they whisked her off to some secret prison facility?

After several seconds, it became apparent that nothing of the sort was going to happen, so she cautiously raised her head.

Cray was still manning the gun, peering out across an urban landscape that was now dizzyingly distant. His was not the only face she recognized. The man who had posed as his partner during the confrontation at the marina was there as well. He nodded in her direction, though the meaning of the gesture was unclear. The riddle of his gesture was quickly forgotten when she saw the other two people seated in the small cabin.

The man was a stranger, but she could tell just by looking at him that he wasn’t a professional killer or a government secret agent. He didn’t have that hard edge that she had noticed in Cort, and looking back, that Noah had always possessed. Thin and bookish, with hair gone gray, he looked more like an accountant or a college professor. Whatever his role, he was staring at Jenna as if…

As if I’m his long lost daughter.

No.

No way.

It was almost as unbelievable as the identity of the other passenger.

Mercedes Reyes smiled and opened her arms to embrace Jenna. “Honey, if you keep ditching me, I’m going to start taking it personally.”





41



7:15 a.m.



“How…?” Before she could figure out exactly what she was trying to ask, a very different realization dawned. It had been right in front of her, nearly all her life, as obvious as her own reflection in a mirror. “Mercy, are you…like me?”

Mercy’s anxious glance at the older man was answer enough, but before either of them could elaborate, Cray’s partner gestured to an empty seat. “Better buckle up. This could get a little rough.”

The helicopter was tilted forward and accelerating, so the deck on which she lay was slightly askew. Just like my life, Jenna thought as she crawled to the chair.