Page 76 of Shadowed Agenda

Regan cleaned her face with the wipes. Beard had splashed water from a water bottle onto her hands to wash off the blood before they left the car crash site. One of the few things she remembered clearly was that and the yellow car parked on the shoulder.

The car had to have been Finlay’s rental. Her friend had described the yellow compact when she’d been told it was the only car the rental agency would give her. Regan would miss her friend.

Don’t go down that road, Regan.

She had to believe that Pavlo had been with her. They’d found her and lost her. They’d find her again. Regan just had to stall for time.

Her mission was to spot an opportunity to escape. Mourning her own death was premature. She’d stopped the car and survived. She’d find a way to escape.

Beard stuffed the dirty wipes in the duffel bag as Regan grabbed the brush in her crossbody bag and ran it through her hair. She wiped gloss over her lips before zippering up her bag and handing it to Beard. He slung the long duffel strap over his shoulders and the purse over one.

“Whoa!” Regan exclaimed as he picked her up.

“You didn’t expect me to let you walk with those heels? You’d break an ankle. The ground is uneven.”

A few minutes later, he set her down beside a gravel road. Snake was standing beside the two bikes.

Regan looked around. A lake peeked through the trees. She recognized the shoreline. It was Oak Lake. They were directly across from the huge pier Mackenzie’s neighbors had built last summer. This was not what she expected.

A huge white house stood at the end of the cul-de-sac, facing the lake. A three-car garage butted against the gravel road, off to one side. Limestone stepstones bordered with flowers led across the grass to the house. There was something familiar about it.

The veranda.

She was looking at it from a different angle. Her captors had just made their first mistake. She knew exactly where she was.

Mackenzie’s friend, Karlee, owned the property next door. Regan had seen the gorgeous outdoor furniture on the veranda the first time she’d looked out Karlee’’s kitchen window. She commented on it every time they visited.

Regan could just make out the welcome sign on the lawn.The Asters.

She had never asked who owned the property. It appeared the Asters owned the cottage next door to Karlee.

“Let’s go,” Beard said and crossed the road. Regan followed, tiptoeing to avoid wrecking her shoes’ heels. She walked along the grass strip, and Beard’s boots crunched on the gravel road beside her. A man sitting against a tree on the other side of the road moved toward them. He’d been waiting for them. The only car parked along the road must belong to him.

Tough, lean, and sinewy, he walked with the confident gait of a predator. He fell into the same category as the dead men in the car. Killers. An expensive camera hung from his neck, and a carry-on case was slung over his shoulder. He wore a vest with multiple pockets over a black t-shirt. They met halfway along the limestone path.

“I received word the driver survived,” the man told Beard. “Take care of it.”

Beard nodded and turned to leave. He bent his head and whispered in Regan’s ear, “Good luck, Peanut. Check your bag.”

“I’m Blaine, your photographer,” the man said. His voice matched his eyes. Cold.

“I don’t have a photographer,” Regan said as they walked along the strip of grass and weeds along the gravel road.

“You do now. That’s how you’ll introduce me,” he said, his voice low.

They reached the manicured lawn and followed the stepstones to the front of the cottage.

Another man was watching them make their way. He touched his ear, and his lips moved, even though no one was in sight. She assumed he was one of the Asters’ bodyguards.

They climbed the stairs leading to the front door.

“Ma’am. Sir,” The man smiled. “I’m Kyle. I work for Senator Aster. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Christenson. I was excited when Mr. Palmer told us you’d be dropping by. I’m more of a Pavlo Barislov fan, but my wife has all of your books.”

So now Regan knew who was behind this. Gage Palmer. Isla had helped him.

“Please, call me Regan,” she said and opened her handbag. When she’d brushed her hair, it had looked like everything was there. The cardholder with her business card book codes was probably at the bottom. She pulled out her wallet, brush, and makeup bag. The card holder lay at the bottom of the bag—along with a lethal-looking knife. Beardhadtold her to look in her bag.

He’d worked out a way to help her without breaking his contract.