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  ESACPE FROM DANGER

  Wesson and Sloan FBI Thriller

  Book 1

  Linsey Lanier

  Copyright © 2020 Linsey Lanier

  All rights reserved. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to your online distributor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work and helping her make a living.

  Felicity Books

  978-1-941191-65-1

  It doesn’t matter if you’re innocent...when the guilty come to kill you.

  Not long ago Special FBI Agent Simon Sloan found his boss dead in his Washington DC office. He left a letter warning Sloan with one word—Run!

  And so Sloan did. But he took someone with him.

  Now he regrets that decision.

  PI Janelle Wesson can’t believe she left her job at the Parker Agency for this. She thought she was in love with the secretive FBI Agent. Now she’s racing across South America with him with an unknown enemy at their heels—ready to destroy them as soon as they’re in his sights.

  Will they survive in time to find out who killed Cooley and prove Simon’s innocence?

  Or will they disappear for good?

  Proofread by Donna Rich

  Books by Linsey Lanier

  Linsey’s Amazon Author page

  THE MIRANDA’S RIGHTS MYSTERY SERIES

  Someone Else’s Daughter

  Delicious Torment

  Forever Mine

  Fire Dancer

  Thin Ice

  THE MIRANDA AND PARKER MYSTERY SERIES

  All Eyes on Me

  Heart Wounds

  Clowns and Cowboys

  The Watcher

  Zero Dark Chocolate

  Trial by Fire

  Smoke Screen

  The Boy

  Snakebit

  Mind Bender

  Roses from My Killer

  The Stolen Girl

  Vanishing Act

  Predator

  Retribution

  Most Likely to Die

  (more to come)

  MAGGIE DELANEY POLICE THRILLER SERIES

  Chicago Cop

  Good Cop Bad Cop

  OTHER SUSPENSE BOOKS BY LINSEY LANIER:

  Steal My Heart (A Romantic Suspense)

  Contents

  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

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter One

  He dribbled the soccer ball with his feet over the grass of the park, using his weak foot and keeping his head up, just as his coach at school had taught him.

  Near the fountain, he passed a man walking his dog and pretended to shield the ball against his attack. At last he neared the goal.

  The goalkeeper was sleeping. There was a gap. He kept his head down and kicked hard.

  Bam! The ball slammed against the rails of the green fence and bounced away.

  “Goal!” he shouted, stretching out the word as he and his schoolmates always did.

  Waving his arms in the air he jumped up and down. He was Messi. As good as Messi. The best futbol player in all of Argentina.

  Happily winded, he skipped over to the ball and saw the man with the dog smiling at him.

  He looked away and wondered if his papa would smile at him like that. He did not have a papa. Mama said his papa was dead, but one of the kids at school said he left her.

  Mama.

  It was getting late. It would be dark soon. Mama would be home from her job at the hospital and cooking dinner. She would be angry if he came home after dark.

  He picked up his ball and hurried through the park’s green gate.

  As he strolled happily down the sidewalk, the wind blew through his sweaty jersey, making him chilly. He thought about his birthday. Mama said it would be coming soon, but he knew it was almost three weeks away. So long from now.

  He was going to be eight. Mama had promised to give him a party in the park, and that he could play futbol with his friends all day.

  As he passed the shops and restaurants, and caught the scent of grilling beef, he wondered if Mama was making asado for dinner. Maybe sausages or provoleta with dulce de leche for dessert.

  He stopped beside the palm tree on the corner and waited for the light. When it turned, he was careful to look both ways before he crossed. On the other side, he reached the familiar apartment buildings that were like the one where he lived with Mama. He was only a few blocks from home now.

  He wondered what Messi was eating tonight.

  Along the curb a car slowed. The rear window lowered.

  “Che boludo,” called a deep voice that was a little scary.

  He stopped and stared at the man in the window. He had long gray hair and a gray beard.

  He wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers. He turned and continued down the sidewalk, keeping his eyes down.

  “Oh, come now. I am not so frightening. Am I?”

  He started walking faster.

  “I suppose you don’t like futbol, then.”

  He stopped and turned back to the car. The rear window was still open, and the man was smiling at him. He seemed friendlier now.

  “I like futbol.”

  “Who is your favorite player?”

  “The best player. Messi.”

  “You mean this man?” He held up a large photo of Messi in his red-and-blue uniform. Messi was cheering in front of the net right after he made a goal. The photo was autographed.

  All he could do was stare at it.

  “I have more.” The man held up a whole stack of photos. Then he opened the back door of the car. “Come and see.”

  He hesitated.

  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.” He moved over and patted the seat.

  Should he get into that car? It was long and dark. Up front there was a driver.

  The man stopped smiling. “Perhaps you don’t like Messi so much, after all.” He started to close the door.

  He moved to the car. “No. I like him. I want to see the photos.” It would be okay.

  “That’s better.” The man opened the door again.

  He climbed inside, and the man reached across him and pulled the door shut. Then he show
ed him the photos.

  They were wonderful. Messi receiving a medal. Messi in the World Cup. Messi talking to reporters. Every one was autographed. He stared at them in awe, imagining himself in the photos.

  He was so lost in the fantasy, he barely noticed the car start to move. He didn’t see the driver turn into traffic.

  He didn’t know something was wrong until the car had carried him far away.

  Chapter Two

  Janelle Wesson picked up the last breakfast plate from the drainer, dried it carefully, and put it away, trying not to slam the cupboard door.

  She turned around, oblivious to the gorgeous solid wood walls, floors, and ceilings surrounding her, and the tall windows to the vista outside. The furniture was a bit Spartan, but this cabin was nice. Really nice.

  For a hideout.

  That wasn’t her focus just now.

  Her chest expanding with suppressed frustration, she forced as much calm as she could into her voice. “Simon, did you hear me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  The movie star handsome man slumped in a chair at the rustic oak dining table simply stared out the window, just as he’d been doing almost since they arrived here a few days ago. For being the best looking man she’d ever met—way beyond a ten on the Wesson-O-Meter—right now, Simon Sloan, FBI agent extraordinaire, looked like hell.

  His midnight black hair was mussed, the five o’clock shadow he’d been nursing for days had grown into a beard, and there were dark lines under his dreamy blue eyes. Instead of the suit she had once been used to seeing him in, he had on a rumpled dark T-shirt and black jeans. Same ones he’d worn yesterday.

  On the table sat his open laptop—with no connection to the outside—and the letter.

  Okay, she got that he was grieving. Mightily.

  Finding your boss dead in his office and a letter from him telling you to run because whoever did this was coming after you was a whopper of burden. That letter had shaken her to the core when Simon first showed it to her.

  But why was he shutting her out? If Simon wanted to find out who was behind Cooley’s death, she could help. She had skills. She was a professional private investigator, after all.

  No, Simon Sloan was too stubborn for that. Plus he was used to being in charge. He had been the head of a clandestine group called the Custodians. He and his team had tracked and captured dangerous criminals all over the United States. Their prime targets had been the sex slave trade, especially activities involving underage children. She had first met him on one of those cases.

  “Simon?” she said again, this time softly.

  He didn’t move.

  The thoughts he was lost in must be darker and more frightening than she could imagine. Still she wanted him to share them with her. She’d been through some pretty hairy things over the past months herself.

  She moved to the end of the table.

  She wanted to take his hand, but was afraid she’d startle him. “Simon, why won’t you let me help you?”

  Finally he shifted his weight and turned to her as if he’d just realized she was standing there. As he drank her in, his vivid blue eyes were troubled and riddled with pain.

  But all he did was shake his head.

  “Simon?”

  “I can’t, Janey,” he snapped, turning away. “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? She knew what he meant.

  Sorry he had come to her in Atlanta that night. Sorry he’d taken her on the run with him. Sorry he’d brought her here.

  She wanted to hear him say it, no matter how much it hurt. She wanted to scream back at him when he did. She wanted to have a knock down drag out fight with him right now. But he was in too much agony.

  Instead, she spun on her heel and raced out the door.

  He didn’t come after her. She wasn’t even sure he knew she had left the room.

  Tears welling up in her eyes, she trotted down the cabin’s twenty wooden steps and hurried through the tall grass of the surrounding field, her leopard print kimono flowing behind her.

  Before breakfast she’d thrown it over a pair of pink flare satin pants and a tie-front tank top. On her feet were her pink satin feather slippers with the fluffy tops that made her feel like a fashion model.

  Her outfit didn’t go at all with the rugged landscape stretching out all around her. Smokey blue mountains and emerald green jungles rose like a sleeping giant behind the cabin. A crystal blue lake lay ahead of her, another range beyond the water with more miles of woods and rain forests.

  She came to a stop at the edge of the lake and forced herself to breathe as she listened to the squawking of exotic birds echoing from the mountains behind the cabin.

  The air was so clean here. The freshest she’d ever inhaled. But why wouldn’t it be? There were no other houses. No people lived here, at all. Not for maybe a hundred miles. Or kilometers, she guessed.

  Not a boutique or clothing store in sight. She could open one, like she had in L.A. years ago. But there would be no customers.

  Pulling her kimono around her, she shivered.

  It wasn’t really summer here. It was on the verge of fall, and some of the trees in the surrounding forests were starting to turn color. She’d been so looking forward to warm weather back home. But it was different here at the end of the world, in this deserted place where no one would find them.

  Patagonia.

  A week ago she only knew the word as a brand of outdoor apparel.

  Since then she’d learned it was a region in South America, and that they were somewhere near the southern part of Chile, miles south of the equator—in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and jungle.

  She thought of the night Simon had come to her apartment in Atlanta and told her he was on the run. They’d taken off together in the middle of the night in an old Ford hatchback he had picked up somewhere. The clunker had lasted until Corpus Christi, which had been a miracle in itself.

  Using fake IDs, they caught a plane, flew across the Panama Canal and landed in Peru. From there it was a less than luxurious ride on a rickety bus through the mountains where the hairpin curves and steep drops into the thick jungle below had twisted Janelle’s stomach into constrictor knots.

  Somewhere in Bolivia they had switched buses—she was getting used to sleeping on them by then. The next day or so they had reached Argentina. There a guide had taken them deep into a jungle, then across a wide flat plain to a village where Simon seemed to know some of the people. She thought that was where they’d be staying for a while.

  Instead Simon picked up supplies, got a jeep from somewhere, and they took off into the wilderness again. Hours later, after traversing mountainous terrain and more jungle, they had arrived here at this cabin.

  It was big and beautiful and had all the accoutrements of modern living.

  Hot running water, appliances, cozy beds with nice linens. She had no idea how Simon knew about the place. Or what his plan was. And the first night, all she could do was fall into one of those beds and sleep.

  But the next day, she realized what a funk Simon was in. He hadn’t even slept in her room.

  Okay. She got that he was going through hell. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to find your boss dead in his office with his throat cut ear to ear. She knew Cooley had been his friend as well as his boss. She knew Simon was grieving, and that he felt responsible.

  She knew Simon wanted to find out who had killed Cooley.

  But why had he given up? It seemed as if he wanted to be a hermit for the rest of his life instead.

  Of the multitude of guys she dated over the years, she’d never met anyone like Simon Sloan. Dating was supposed to be fun, she’d decided long ago. Drinks, dinner, a few laughs, and that was it. She’d never taken anyone seriously, never felt much for anyone.

  Until she’d met the enigmatic FBI agent.

  Until that mind blowing kiss in a movie studio in L.A. The same kind of kiss he’d given her in Atlanta—the one that had made
her give up her whole life.

  When Simon came to her apartment in Atlanta and told her he had to get out of the country, she’d known with every fiber of her being she had to go with him.

  She had a great job at the Parker Agency in Atlanta. She had just reconnected with her sister in LA. But Simon’s mesmerizing kiss had made her leave it all behind.

  He had warned her. He’d told her not to come with him. But she hadn’t listened.

  And now here she was.

  But hadn’t she always longed for adventure? To be sure, Simon Sloan was the most dangerous man she had ever met.

  Stubbornly she shook her head. This wasn’t adventure. No, this was a colossal mistake.

  Wait a minute.

  She’d told her boss, Miranda Steele, she was going on an extended vacation. Nobody knew where she was. Nobody knew she’d run off with Simon Sloan. With the disguises they’d used while traveling, nobody along the way would ever recognize her.

  She could go back.

  Just return to her apartment, pick up the pieces of her life, and go on as if nothing had happened.

  She could do it. She would do it.

  She just had to figure out how to get back to Atlanta.

  Turning, she scowled in anger at the cabin, the beautiful place with the jungle-covered mountains rising just behind it. She loved Simon Sloan with all her heart. But it was obvious he didn’t feel the same way about her.

  He’d changed his mind. He didn’t want her here. And she refused to stay where she wasn’t wanted.

  She’d leave. Right now. She’d pack up her things and get out of here. She’d figure out how to get back to Lima. Then she’d just fly back into the US and make her way home.

  Pulling her kimono aside, she started back to the cabin.

  She’d taken only two steps when an odd noise broke through the quiet.

  What was that? Monkeys? Some strange animal from the nearby jungle? No, it was too loud for that. Too rhythmical.

  Thwop. Thwop. Thwop. Thwop.

  She looked up just as a familiar black metal shape came over the mountains just behind the cabin.

  Her heart began to pound as she blinked at it in shock.