CHAPTER ONE
Shayla Callaway woke up in a sweat, her heart racing, her mind spinning with horrible and disturbing images. It took her a moment to remember that she wasn't in a remote village in northern Colombia, but in the San Francisco apartment she shared with another medical resident. She'd been home for five days, but she had yet to fully process what had happened.
A persistent ring broke through the haze of her nightmare. She hoped it wasn't the hospital, asking her to come in and cover a shift. She wasn't ready to go back to work yet. Her hands needed to stop shaking first. She had two weeks before her next rotation started, and she hoped by then she'd be ready to return to the career she'd been pursuing for the past ten years.
But there was no familiar hospital number flashing across her phone, just the word blocked. Adrenaline ran through her already hyperaware body. She drew in a breath and told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Grabbing the phone, she uttered a breathless, "Hello?"
"Shayla?"
The male voice crackling on the other end of the line belonged to Dr. Robert Becker, her friend, her mentor, and the brilliant doctor who had been missing since a trio of armed gunmen had broken into the Colombian clinic where they'd been working and killed three people, leaving a trail of injuries and trauma behind.
Robert had not been one of the dead or the injured; he'd been unaccounted for—until now.
Her hand tightened around the phone. "Robert? Are you all right? Where are you?"
"I'm in trouble, Shayla. I need your help."
"What can I do?"
"I need you to go to my office and get the gift you gave me for my last birthday. You remember what that was, don't you?"
Her brows knit together at the unexpected request. "You mean—"
"Don't say it out loud," Robert said quickly. "I don't know who's listening."
"What are you talking about?" she asked in confusion. "Who would be listening?"
"I can't explain right now. I need you to get the present and give it to my brother, Reid. Ask him to bring it to me on Sunday."
"Your brother? Isn't he in the Army somewhere?"
"He's out now. He's living in San Francisco, and he might just be my only hope of getting out of this alive."
A shiver ran down her spine at his ominous words. "Why don't I talk to the police, to my brother-in-law, Max? He can help you with whatever trouble you're in."
"This is bigger than the local cops. You need to find Reid and tell him to meet me. Please, Shayla, you're the only one I can trust."
"All right," she said, hearing the agitation in his voice. "Where do you want him to go?"
Robert hesitated. "I want you to tell him something, Shayla, and you have to say it exactly this way. Are you ready?"
"Go ahead."
"It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. Say it."
"It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves. What does that mean?"
"My brother will know. Tell him Sunday afternoon, three o'clock."
"Sunday is three days from now."
"I'm not sure how long it will take me to get there or for you to convince my brother to help me." He paused. "Has anyone spoken to you since you got back, anyone from the State Department, the FBI or any other agency?"
"Yes, I've been interviewed by both agencies, and there have been a lot of questions about you. Your ex-wife also came by to see me. Lisa is extremely worried about you. I didn't know what to tell her."
"Don't tell her anything. You can't talk to anyone but Reid. Promise me."
"All right. I promise."
"I'll explain everything when this is over. I have to go, Shayla."
"Wait, where am I going to find your brother? Do you have his number?"
"No, but his best friend, Jared Stone, owns the Cadillac Lounge. He'll know where to find Reid. Don't tell anyone about this call but Reid. And don't remove the present from my office if anyone else is around. It needs to be done secretly. This is very important Shayla. Don't let me down."
"All right—"
The connection broke just as she got the last word out.
Her heart was still pounding against her chest as she set her phone down on the bed and glanced at the clock. It was almost eight a.m., and early morning light filtered into the room. At least, the sun was coming up. She didn't have to think about trying to force herself to go back to sleep for another few hours.
She walked across the room to the window and pulled the curtains open. The street of apartment buildings in the shadow of Twin Peaks was quiet, and the calm scene took down her anxiety level. Everything was fine in this part of the world. She didn't need to feel afraid.
As sweat dripped down the back of her neck, she turned her face toward the fan in the corner, lifting up her blond ponytail to let the air cool down her heated skin.
Normally, San Francisco in the summer was cool and foggy, but an unusual July heat wave had hit the day before, and the city would see temperatures into the hundreds by the afternoon, lasting into the upcoming weekend.
It was the same kind of weather she'd experienced in Colombia where she'd spent three months working in the region of El Catatumbo. In the language of the native people, the Bari, Catatumbo meant God of Thunder, and she'd quickly learned how appropriate that name was. Heat waves followed by massive electrical storms sent streaking bolts of lightning down from the sky that could devastate and destroy with spectacular and deadly beauty.
But then that was Colombia, a beautiful country but one of the most dangerous places in the world.
She'd gone there for two reasons, to provide medicine to the poor, to the people who were a three-day boat ride away from any kind of care, and to help collect data for a clinical drug trial Robert was running for Cabott Pharmaceuticals, a company on the edge of a breakthrough drug that would change the lives of millions of people suffering from Alzheimer's, including her grandmother.
It had started out as an adventure and an opportunity to take her medical skills into the field and to be a part of something amazing and wonderful, but it had ended in death and destruction. She'd barely escaped with her life.
She'd never been so close to death before, and she was having trouble dealing with not only the close call but also the guilt she felt for being one of the few to survive. But she had survived, she reminded herself. And she needed to keep moving forward, something that would be easier to do once Robert was safe.
She'd never heard his voice filled with so much fear. Robert was usually purposeful, analytical, and methodical—all the things a good scientist should be. But today he'd sounded desperate and out of control. What on earth was he involved in? It had to have something to do with what happened in Colombia, but she couldn't imagine what trouble could have followed him back to the U.S.—unless he wasn't back yet? Maybe he wanted his brother to meet him somewhere in South America.
The whole thing was crazy. She felt like she was in the middle of a spy movie. Robert's cryptic words about conquering mountains, his unwillingness to tell her anything over the phone for fear someone was listening in, and his questions about the FBI and the State Department were all very disturbing. She felt anxious and way out of her comfort zone. But what Robert had asked her to do was not that difficult, retrieve the present from his office and contact his brother. She could do that, and she would do that, because she owed Robert.
She'd met Robert during her first week of college. Having skipped two grades, she'd been an awkward sixteen-year-old her freshman year, able to compete academically but completely out of her depth when it came to social relationships. Eight years older than her, Robert had been a medical resident who'd come to speak to her class about a career in medicine.
After that lecture, he'd taken her under his wing, telling her he'd hit college when he was fifteen and knew exactly what it felt like to be isolated by a brilliant mind and social immaturity. Over the years they'd kept in touch as she made her way through medical school and Robert gained a reputation as a brilliant medical researcher. When she'd had a chance to take a twelve-week residency in Colombia that would include both clinical practice and medical research under Robert's lead, she had jumped at the chance, never imagining how it would all end.
Turning away from the fan, she walked into the bathroom and stripped off her damp tank top and pajama bottoms and stepped into the shower. She let the steady cool spray beat down on the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders for a good ten minutes. Then she dressed and went into the kitchen to make breakfast.
While the coffee was brewing, she popped a piece of bread into the toaster, finding comfort and reassurance in the familiar surroundings. She was home. She was safe. If she said the words enough times, maybe she would start to believe them.
She stiffened, hearing a key in the lock. She let out a breath of relief when her roommate, Kari, a petite brunette, entered the apartment. Kari was usually cheerful and energized, but today she looked decidedly weary, which was no surprise since she'd been on duty the last twelve hours.
"You're up early," Kari said in surprise. "Too hot to sleep?"
She nodded, happy to have the heat as an excuse. She hadn't told anyone what had happened in Colombia, not Kari, or her family. While the Callaways were wonderfully supportive, she couldn't bring herself to talk to them about that night of terror.
"The E.R. was hopping all night," Kari continued. "People sure get trigger happy when the temperature rises."
Kari had no idea that her casual words set off another rolling wave of panic within Shayla. She was supposed to work in the E.R. on her next rotation. How was she going to handle gunshot wounds, stabbings and more violence? She'd always thought of herself as a strong person, until now…
Shayla tried to drive the anxiety away by changing the subject. "Do you want some coffee? I just made some."
"No thanks. The last thing I need is more caffeine. I'm going to try to get at least six hours of sleep before I go back to the hospital."
"You're working another double shift?"
"Yes, but it's fine. I'm leaving tomorrow for five days, so I'll have time to relax then."
She'd forgotten Kari was going away, and she dreaded the idea of five days alone in the apartment. Not that she needed to be alone. She could always go home to her parents' house or stay with one of her siblings, but that would require more explanations than she wanted to make.
Kari yawned. "I'm going to hit the sack. See you later."
As Kari left the room, the front door buzzer rang. Shayla almost jumped out of her skin. It was way too early for visitors. She walked over to the intercom and warily said, "Yes?"
"It's Emma. Can I come up for a quick second?"
Shayla inwardly groaned. She'd been avoiding Emma's calls all week. She should have guessed her big sister wouldn't give up that easily. "Kari is sleeping. I'll come down." Maybe if she didn't let Emma into the apartment, she could get rid of her more quickly.
Shayla jogged down three flights of stairs and pushed open the front door.
Emma Callaway Harrison stood on the steps. Her big sister by six years, Emma was a slender blonde with short, angled, straight blonde hair and bright blue eyes that were often inquisitive. She was dressed for her job as a fire investigator for the San Francisco Fire Department, wearing black slacks and a white button-down blouse with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows in deference to the summer heat.
"What are you doing here so early?" Shayla asked. "Is something wrong?"
"Not with me. But we're all worried about you," Emma said pointedly. "You haven't returned anyone's calls since you got back from Colombia. Mom says she saw you for five minutes three days ago, and you looked exhausted and too thin." Emma's gaze swept her body. "I thought she was exaggerating, but she wasn't. When did you eat last?"
"I had a stomach bug, and I haven't felt like talking to anyone."
"But you're better now?"
"Getting there." She hoped her sister's sharp gaze wouldn't see the lie in her words. As an investigator, Emma was really good at spotting liars. "I'll call Mom later and reassure her."
"Maybe you should go see her." Emma's eyes filled with compassion. "We don't know the details of what happened to you in Colombia, since you haven't wanted to fill us in, but from what I've read online, it sounds like it was terrifying."
"It was, but I'm okay."
"Are you? You don't seem like yourself, Shay. And while you've looked exhausted for most of medical school, now you're almost a shadow of yourself."
She shrugged and pushed a strand of hair off of her face. "I'll admit I'm tired, but a few more days of rest, and I'll bounce back."
"Sometimes it helps to talk to someone. If not me, then someone else."
She wished she could talk to Emma, but even without the promise she'd made to Robert, she couldn't speak about what had happened. "I'll think about it. So, how is everything with you and Max? Is your husband still amazingly awesome?"
"Absolutely. Married life is better than I ever imagined." Emma's eyes sparkled with happiness. "We've started talking about kids."
"Really?" Her sister had spent the past decade focused on her career in the fire department, first as a firefighter and then as a fire investigator.
"We're not rushing into anything," Emma added quickly. "Just talking about it. Since I've been spending time with Sara and Aiden, I've gotten a touch of baby fever."
"I can totally understand that. Chloe is adorable."
"But first I have to figure out how to juggle my career with being a mother."
"Probably a good idea, although not your usual approach to life." While Shayla had always been a planner, Emma liked to leap first and think about how to land later.
"I'm trying to be smart. Anyway, I also came here to talk to you about Drew and Ria's wedding. We're meeting tomorrow at noon at the bridal boutique to try on our dresses and then we're going to lunch on Fisherman's Wharf. It's going to be just the girls, and I want you there."
"I will be."
"Good. I better get to work. See you tomorrow."
As Emma walked out to her car, Shayla looked around the neighborhood. There was a woman putting out the trash a few buildings down, a man walking his dog by the corner, and another man trying to park his SUV in an incredibly tight spot.
It was a typical morning in San Francisco. She was a long way from Colombia, from the men with guns, but she still couldn't stop the goose bumps that lit up her arms. She walked quickly back into her building, making sure the front door locked behind her. As she walked up the stairs to her apartment, she wondered if she'd ever feel safe again.
