Sheriff’s deputy Tanner Dempsey is just doing his job when he stops a shoplifter trying to steal diapers and formula. But something about this frightened young woman makes him want to do more. Bree Daniels is grateful for Tanner’s help, but there’s so much she can never tell him... The truth is dangerous to everyone she lets into her life—and could be lethal to Tanner.

JANIE CROUCH has loved to read romance her whole life. This USA TODAY bestselling author cut her teeth on Mills & Boon Romance novels as a preteen, then moved on to a passion for romantic suspense as an adult. Janie lives with her husband and four children overseas. She enjoys travelling, long-distance running, movie watching, knitting and adventure/obstacle racing. You can find out more about her at janiecrouch.com

Also By Janie Crouch

Daddy Defender

Protector’s Instinct

Cease Fire

Special Forces Saviour

Fully Committed

Armoured Attraction

Man of Action

Overwhelming Force

Battle Tested

Infiltration

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Calculated Risk

Janie Crouch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09408-5

CALCULATED RISK

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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To the Chamblee High School Class of 1965

(and thereabouts)— my mother’s graduating class.

Thank you for letting me borrow your names.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Bree Daniels froze, fork halfway to her mouth, at the sound of the knock at her apartment door. She forced herself to put the fork down slowly and remain calm.

A knock on the door wasn’t a cause for panic for most people. But from the time Bree was twelve, she’d been taught that danger of the most deadly kind could wait on the other side of any door.

She took a deep breath and let it out.

It wasn’t that no one ever knocked on her door. She regularly ordered things that had to be delivered. As a matter of fact, most of her shopping was done online. Everything from clothing to groceries. Buying what she needed on the internet meant less interaction with people and no need to leave her downtown Kansas City apartment.

But Bree always knew exactly—usually to the hour—when the items would arrive. When a knock would come on her door.

This was not one of those times.

She waited, hoping it was just some kid or lost person who would go away, tensing when a second knock came. She stood, moving toward the emergency bug-out bag she kept packed in the coat closet. It contained everything she needed for a quick getaway: clothing, a wad of cash, a few items that could be used to change her appearance and a fake ID she’d never used.

She hadn’t needed the bag since arriving here three years ago on her twenty-first birthday. She didn’t want to use it now unless she absolutely had to. Despite the wisdom of it, she loved this little apartment. It had become home. She didn’t want to leave.

A woman’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Bethany?”

Now Bree ran for the closet. It was definitely time for the bug-out bag.

Nobody knew her by the name Bethany. At least, no one who wanted her alive.

Another soft knock. Another whisper at the door. “Please, Bethany. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Bree didn’t stop, just grabbed the bag and ran toward the window in the living room. The fire escape outside her second-floor apartment was the reason she had chosen this unit in the first place.

Always have multiple exits. Always have a plan.

And she did. To get the hell out. She was climbing through the window when she heard the words from the door.

“Crisscross, applesauce.”

Bree froze. No, it couldn’t be. She hadn’t heard those words, the code she’d shared with her cousin when they were younger, in more than a decade.

Melissa had been the only person Bree had ever truly opened up to, the only person who’d taken the time to try to understand the socially awkward Bethany. Their upbringing had been isolated and cold—before Bree’s had turned into a total nightmare—but together it had been bearable.

Crisscross, applesauce.

That phrase had been their agreed-upon code, hidden from the Organization, to let each other know if they were truly in need.

They were quite possibly the only words in the world that could’ve stopped Bree from crawling out that window and leaving here forever.

Was it a trap?

If Bree’s mother was still alive, she would’ve definitely said yes. They would’ve already been out the window and moving to separate locations to meet up later if it was safe. That had always been their agreed-upon plan, even when it meant Bree had to spend a week living by herself when she was fourteen. Whatever kept them alive.

Knowing she might be making the worst mistake of her life, that her mother was probably rolling over in her grave, Bree stopped and turned back toward her front door.

Saying a quick prayer and calling herself all sorts of stupid, she cracked open the door.

She knew immediately it was Melissa. She was more than a decade older than when Bree had last seen her at thirteen, but her features and long blond hair were still the same. Bree had been so jealous of Mel’s beautiful curls when they were kids. Her own straight brown hair had seemed so boring in comparison.

She’d made a mistake by opening the door. Even if Melissa wasn’t here because she meant to kill her—and Bree still wasn’t sure of that—Melissa was part of a life Bree wanted nothing to do with.

“I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong place. There’s nobody by that name here.” Bree quickly shut the door.

“Bethany, I know it’s you. Please, it’s Melissa. I’m not going to hurt you, and I haven’t told anybody in the Organization where you are. But I need your help.”

Bree rested her forehead against the door. It had been so long since...everything. Since seeing Melissa. Since hearing anyone call her by her real name.

Since talking to anyone person to person at all.

“Crisscross, applesauce. Crisscross, applesauce.” Melissa kept softly saying it over and over against the door.

Shaking her head, Bree opened it again.

“Oh, God, thank you,” Melissa said before Bree yanked her inside. Immediately Bree started patting down her cousin, looking for a weapon. Not finding one didn’t make her feel any better. If the other woman was here to betray Bree, she wouldn’t be here alone.

“I don’t have any guns,” Melissa said as Bree finished the pat down. “And I don’t have very much time.”

“Why are you here, Mel?”

Bree stood stiff as her cousin threw her arms around Bree’s torso. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged her. Her mom had stopped long before she died.

“Why are you here?” she asked again. “How did you find me?”

Melissa stepped back. “I discovered you were in Kansas City a few months ago. But only recently did I find this place.”

Bree tried to focus on what Melissa was saying and not on the fear coursing through her system. If Melissa could find her, so could the rest of the Organization.

Melissa grabbed her hands. “Nobody knows but me. I promise. I need your help, Bethany.”

“Bree,” she said automatically. “I go by Bree now.”

“Bree. It suits you.” Melissa gave her a small smile, her hands wringing. “I don’t have much time. It won’t take them long to figure out I’m gone. They’re suspicious already.”

Bree watched her closely, still ready to run if needed. “What do you need?”

“I found out the truth about the Organization. I want to get out. I’ve wanted to for a long time, but now I think I have the means.”

Bree shut her eyes and shook her head. “I—”

“Things are so much worse now than when you were there. The things they can do now...”

Bree didn’t want to get drawn back into this. She was already going to have to run again. The thought of leaving this place hurt. “I can’t help you. Honestly, I’m not in any position to help anyone. And if you know I’m here, the Organization does, too.”

Melissa grabbed Bree’s hand, and she fought not to flinch away. “No, they don’t know. They may know I’m here, but they don’t know it’s you. And I have a couple of allies on the inside now. People who can be trusted.”

The only person Bree trusted was herself. When it came to the Organization, the price on her head was too high to trust anybody.

The phone in Melissa’s hand pinged, and she let out a curse.

“I’m out of time.” Her features became more pinched. “There’s so much I need to tell you. Please, Bethany—Bree—please meet me tonight so I can explain everything. There’s so much more at stake than you could ever dream, than I could’ve ever dreamed. I have to make my move now or I’ll lose everything.” Desperation dripped from every word.

“Mel, I just don’t think—”

“Just meet me tonight,” Melissa cut her off. “At the downtown train station at midnight. I’ll bring the hard drive. It has everything we need to truly get our freedom. I’ll show you why it’s critical I make my move now.”

When the phone in her hand beeped again, Melissa bolted to the door. She turned, eyes entreating. “Crisscross, applesauce, Bethany. Please.”

All Bree could do was watch her go.

* * *

TWELVE HOURS LATER, at almost midnight, Bree sat in her car in a location giving her good visual access to the train station.

She was making a mistake. She knew she was making a mistake, that this was all going to end badly...yet here she was.

She’d been watching the station for the past two hours, looking for any sign that Melissa had set her up, that this was a trap and the Organization would be moving in to capture Bree.

She’d found no indication at all that that was the case.

Just like she’d found no indication of betrayal after she’d immediately vacated her apartment this afternoon when Melissa left. As far as Bree could tell—and she’d become very proficient at the tactical skill of observation—no one had been watching or following her all day.

It disturbed her slightly how much she wanted to believe her cousin’s intentions were good. Even if it went against the idea her mother had spent so many years instilling: no one could be trusted.

In the end, her mother hadn’t even trusted Bree. She rubbed the raised flesh of the knife scar on her shoulder under her shirt. Her mother’s parting gift, before taking her own life, thinking Bree was about to do it.

But Bree had seen nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary here for hours. So she was fairly certain she was going to do the stupid thing and get out of this car to help Melissa.

Even if she knew the smart thing would’ve been to already be two hundred miles outside Kansas City. That’s why she’d chosen the city right smack in the middle of America—she could travel in any direction if she needed to get out quick.

But the fact of the matter, and the reason Bree was sitting here right now, was that if Melissa had intended to turn over Bree to the Organization, her best bet would’ve been to do it earlier today when she had the element of surprise. Melissa had known her apartment number, so all she’d really needed to do was have someone guarding the fire escape and ready to catch Bree when she ran.

But Mel hadn’t.

Crisscross, applesauce.

Shaking her head, Bree got out of the car and headed toward the designated parking lot to meet Melissa.

The choice of locations was a good one. Trains were accessible, of course, and the bus depot was only two blocks away. In a personal vehicle someone could be on three different major interstates in less than five minutes.

Bree kept to the shadows, circling the area and waiting for Melissa. When by fifteen minutes past their scheduled meeting time Melissa hadn’t arrived, Bree began to get worried. She gave her ten more minutes after that, then knew it wasn’t safe to stay in one place any longer.

Something had changed—planned or unplanned. Either way, Bree couldn’t stay here. All she could do was pray her mother’s voice screaming in her head hadn’t been right and this was all a setup.

She had her answer a few moments later as she approached her car and felt the cold metal of a gun muzzle against the back of her neck.

Sorry, Mom, I guess you were right.

“Would’ve probably been less conspicuous to take me out at my apartment. Nobody knew me there anyway,” she said, raising her hands to shoulder level, as if she had no plans to fight.

There weren’t too many self-defense moves she could do if the shooter was going to assassinate her with a slug to the back of the head. But if he or she had instructions to bring Bree back alive, Bree would have opportunities to make her own attack. Better to make the person think she was compliant.

Bree very definitely wasn’t compliant, and there was no way in hell someone was taking her back to the Organization alive.

“Melissa sent me.” A man’s voice.

“Well, tell her I said she played me just right. I honestly believed she needed my help right up until the second I felt your gun at my neck.”

“She does need your help. I’m not here to hurt you. Melissa was being watched, so she couldn’t come herself.” And then, amazingly, the cold metal eased back from her skin.

Bree turned around slowly, then blanched as she found herself looking into cold eyes she hadn’t seen in over ten years.

It took every ounce of self control she had not to scurry away or whimper.

Everyone had called him Smith, although that certainly wasn’t his real name. He’d been in charge of discipline. He’d been old even then. He looked ancient now.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

“Yes.” How could she possibly forget the man who had broken more than one of her bones? “What I don’t know is why I’m alive and still conscious.”

Smith shook his head. “As I said, I’m not here to harm you. Melissa needed me to deliver important...items that are required in order for her to escape the Organization.”

“You’re helping her?”

“They’ve gone too far, even for me.” He gave the smallest shrug with his shoulder. “And maybe what I’m doing here today will help make up for the sins of my past. But we don’t have much time. I’ll lead them away from your direction, but that’s all I can do.”

He pushed an old flip phone into her hand. “You hold the future now. Melissa will be in touch as soon as she can. I placed the items in the back seat of your car. Be careful. They are everything.”

Bree turned toward her car. They were everything? She turned back toward the caretaker. “What are you talking about—”

He was gone, disappeared into the darkness.

She shook her head and turned back toward her car—a nondescript late-model Honda most people wouldn’t pay attention to—cautiously, even knowing she could’ve been killed multiple times over by now if that was someone’s intent.

She heard yelling on the other side of the parking lot and picked up her pace. Maybe it was just the normal type of trouble that could be found in an empty downtown parking lot in the middle of the night, but maybe it was trouble coming specifically for her. She paused again as she came up on her car, seeing two large, odd-shaped boxes in the back seat.

She’d been expecting some files, but electronic ones on a hard drive. Definitely not anything that size.

After another couple steps, Bree realized those weren’t file boxes at all. She ran the last few feet to her car, pushing her face up against the window.

“Oh, my God, Mel, what have you done?”

Chapter Two

Bree stared, rubbed her eyes just to make sure she hadn’t been affected by some sort of airborne hallucinogen, then stared some more.

Not file boxes at all. Strapped into the back seat of her car were two separate baby carriers. Inside each of them was a tiny sleeping infant. Bree didn’t know anything about babies, but those were definitely fresh ones. New. Couldn’t be more than five minutes old, right?

A note was taped to the top of one of the carriers, so she carefully opened the door and grabbed it.

I couldn’t get out. But you see now why I have to. Their names are Christian and Beth, and they’re two months old. The Organization doesn’t know about them. I will keep it that way and hope you will keep them safe until I can escape.

Crisscross, applesauce, Bree. You hold my heart in your hands every time you pull the twins close. I never knew what true family was until I had them.

Bree removed the small hard drive attached to the paper then crumpled it, bringing her fist down softly on the roof of the car. She didn’t know the first thing about babies. Had never held one in her life. What was she going to do now?

She quietly shut the back door—heaven forbid she wake one of them up—and got into the driver’s side. Staying here wasn’t safe. Her fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip as she pulled the car out of the parking lot.

She’d known it was going to be hard. But this was so much worse than she thought.

There were babies in the back seat.

Not just one. Two. Babies. One of them even named after her. Oh, Mellie.

This changed every possible plan that had been stirring around in Bree’s head since Melissa showed up this afternoon. All the routes she and Melissa could choose, modes of transportation they could take. She’d had multiple possible plans.

Prepare for the unexpected and you’re much more likely to get out of a situation alive. She could almost hear her mother’s voice.

But of all the scenarios Bree had run in her head, none of them had involved the particular variables she was dealing with right now. All her options were now defunct.

Because babies.

She glanced down at the phone Smith had given her. It wasn’t a high-tech smartphone; it was a low-tech flip phone that could barely be used to make a call.

A safe phone, so low-tech that it would be difficult for the Organization to use it to find someone.

She quickly scrolled through the call history to see if she could find any information, a way to get in touch with Melissa, let her know what a terrible plan this was, but there was nothing. Until Melissa called Bree, the phone was basically useless.

How long before Melissa could get away from the Organization? Hours? Days?

Years?

When one of the babies let out a soft gurgle from the back seat, Bree put the phone down and focused on figuring out where to go. Maybe the best plan was to go back to her apartment. Obviously, Melissa didn’t intend her any harm, so Bree’s home was probably safe.

At least it would allow her a chance to regroup. Figure out what she was going to do.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she drove up to her block. Her apartment was in a busy, but not dangerous, part of the city, something she’d been specifically looking for when she’d chosen the place. She’d wanted to be able to slip in and out, day or night, without people paying much attention to her. To be able to blend into a crowd instantly if needed.

There were enough units in the building that people were constantly coming and going, and it was urban enough that nobody thought much of it if you didn’t stop and talk to them.

But right now it looked like every single person in the building was out on the street surrounding it. At one o’clock in the morning.

Bree parked the car on a side street. She left the twins sleeping inside, tucked most of her long brown hair up into a ball cap so it looked much shorter and then jogged over to the people at the edge of the crowd. She kept an eye on the car as she spoke to an older couple she’d seen around but had never talked to.

“Hi, I live in 4A. I just got home. What’s going on? Is it a fire?”

The old man kept his arm around his wife while he shook his head at Bree. “Gas leak. They came door to door about an hour ago. Told us it would be at least five or six hours before we could get back in.”

“Where’s the fire department?”

The older woman shrugged. “I guess the rest of them are on their way. We only saw one. It was the gas company employees knocking on doors and checking people off their list.”

Bree knew if it was dangerous enough to be taking people out of their homes in the middle of the night, it was dangerous enough to have a full firefighting crew here. This definitely wasn’t right.

“So everyone just has to stand out here for five or six more hours?”

“No,” the man said. “They said they’d provide rooms at a local hotel down the block for free. All you needed to do was show them your ID and let them run a credit card for any incidentals.”

Bree grimaced. More likely a convenient place to herd everyone from the building and double-check their identification.

She glanced over at the car. Nobody was near it, but she needed to get the twins out of here. This had the Organization written all over it.

The older woman gave out a weary sigh. “Harold just walked down to use the ATM and couldn’t get it to work. It said our account was temporarily on hold. I don’t want to go to some strange hotel in my pajamas with no money.”

A younger woman turned to them from a few yards away. “Did you guys say your bank account is on hold? Mine told me the same thing a few minutes ago when I went to grab some cash.”

Harold let out another frustrated sigh. “Unbelievable. At First National Trust?”

The woman shook her head. “No, Bank United. Everybody’s system must be down.”

Or somebody was making sure that everybody in the building ended up where they were subtly being directed.

The Organization was casting a net. They didn’t know what their fish looked like, so they were going to dredge everything, then sort it out.

Bree pulled her hat farther down on her head. Everything happening on the street right now—all the people gathered here—was being recorded, she was sure of it.

After all, hadn’t the Organization started teaching her how to use her computer skills for surveillance when she was only ten years old? They’d taught her how to target, how to track, how to incapacitate an enemy virtually. Then used her natural abilities to further develop methods of spying and tracking.

Until her mother had realized the prestigious computer school that was supposed to be providing a young Bethany a leg up in coding and systems was actually using her abilities to further their own nefarious purposes. And had no plan to ever let her leave.

Bree spoke to Harold and the others for just a few more moments before easing herself away and walking nonchalantly back to her car and slipping inside. She started the car and pulled away slowly despite every instinct that screamed to drive as fast as she could. That would do nothing but draw attention to her. Attention she desperately could not afford.

As she passed Harold and his wife, she noticed that a man wearing a Central Gas jacket was now talking to the older couple, clipboard in hand. When Harold pointed in her direction, she dipped lower in her seat, gritting her teeth, forcing herself to hold her speed consistent.

She could feel computerized eyes on her everywhere. Every phone in this vicinity was recording—whether the owners knew it or not—and sending information back to the Organization.

If Bree made one wrong move, did anything that drew unwanted attention to herself, they would be on her in a heartbeat.

She could feel the phantom pain of her leg being broken by the Organization. Hear her own screams. Her mother’s sobs.

She couldn’t let them take her again. So she forced herself to remain calm, to keep her car steady and slow, even though her eyes were almost glued to the rearview mirror expecting vehicles to be chasing her any moment.

But none came.

The gas man would be asking who she was. Hopefully the couple would remember Bree said 4A. The real person from 4A was the one in the building who looked most similar to Bree. Caucasian female. Brown hair. Average height and weight. Mid-to late-twenties.

Side by side it would be obvious Bree and 4A’s occupant weren’t the same person, but in general description they were similar enough to buy Bree some time as they searched for the wrong person.

She was going to need every extra minute she could get. She had no doubt her accounts, like everyone else’s, had been frozen. They would be unfrozen as soon as she stepped foot in a bank and showed ID. But then the Organization would have a record of her, photographs.

They would figure out she was alive, and the hunt would truly begin.

So she was trapped with just the cash she had on her. Alone, that would’ve lasted her six months or more. More than enough time to get established somewhere and get a new job.

As if on cue one baby began crying in the back. It wasn’t long before the other was joining its sibling.

Bree definitely wasn’t alone anymore.

12 3 След.

The Risk Series: A Bree and Tanner Thriller

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

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