Free True Shot by Joyce Lamb Page A

even imagine her baby sister being old enough for a serious romantic relationship. Last time she’d seen her, Alex had been a precocious thirteen-year-old, totally enamored of every stray animal she could find.
    And, crap, she’d let her mind wander again. Losing focus like this had to be the drug working its way through her system. And it was happening much faster than the ninety minutes Flinn had told her.
    “Charlie and Alex can’t help me,” she said, in control again.
    “But we removed the transmitter, so Ford can’t follow you, right? Why not just leave it all behind and go home? Your family would love to see you again. They’d find a way to help.”
    She rested her head against the car seat and closed her eyes. So tired. So . . . so tired. “I have to find out what he planned with Zoe. She has a sister. She’d want me to . . .” She trailed off, losing the thread. Zoe has a sister . . . why was that important again?
    “If Zoe were any kind of friend to you, then she’d want you to be safe. With people who love you. And I know law-enforcement types who can help.”
    That snapped her straight. “No law enforcement. No police. No FBI. No CIA.”
    “How about DEA? Secret Service? U.S. Postal Inspectors?”
    “This isn’t a joke.”
    He gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry. Humor . . . that’s how I deal with stress. And you have to admit, this is . . . stressful.” Then he muttered, “Understatement-of-the-year alert.”
    She massaged the ache in her forehead with the tips of cold fingers. She couldn’t think straight, her thoughts growing sluggish and scattered, disconnected, as though a kind of numbness deadened the firing of her synapses. It was happening too fast. She had so much more to tell Mac. “I need to contact . . . Sledge.” She used his nickname deliberately. The less Mac knew about other N3 operatives, the better. “He can help.”
    “Sledge? As in hammer?”
    She couldn’t think of his number, though. Couldn’t even bring forth the first three digits of a number she knew as well as her own. Luckily, she had a backup: “His number’s in my phone.” She glanced around the interior of the SUV. “Where’s my bag?”
    “It’s back at the cabin.”
    Crap. Crap . Everything she needed to survive was in that bag. Her personal cell phone. Contact numbers. Money. “We have to go back.”
    Mac snorted. “I don’t think so.”
    “Turn around.”
    “We’re not going back.”
    “We have to. My bag—”
    “Is probably now in the custody of the guy who’s after you. Remember him? Bald? Smarmy?”
    “Yes, of course. Flinn.” As she said it, she realized he hadn’t meant that as an actual question. She couldn’t keep up.
    “Why is he after you, anyway? Isn’t that information you’re going to need, you know, later?”
    “He wants to . . .” She trailed off, not sure suddenly. Think, think . “He wants to stop me from telling his superiors what he’s doing.” Yes, that sounded right. Didn’t it?
    “So if this N3 is part of the FBI, wouldn’t his superiors be at FBI headquarters? We can go there right now. It’s not that far from here, in downtown Washington.”
    She tried to think of Flinn’s boss, but either the drug had destroyed the memories or she’d never known. Is that even how the drug worked? Slowly nibbling away at her mind? Or would it happen all at once? She’d blink and everything would be gone. She’d be blank. Focus. “I don’t know who his superiors are.”
    “Then how do you know you work for the FBI?”
    She didn’t. At least, not now. Surely she wouldn’t have blindly followed Flinn without question. Would she? No, wait, she’d had no choice. He’d blackmailed her—
    “Samantha ?”
    “Sam.”
    “Sorry?”
    “Don’t call me Samantha. That’s what Flinn calls me. But I’m Sam. I’ve always been Sam.”
    “Okay.”
    The colors blurring by outside the SUV window were so pretty. Reds and golds and yellows. She’d liked fall ever since the