Next Exit, Dead Ahead

by CW Browning

  With the one lead gone as fast as it had come, Stephanie returned downstairs where she was met by John, accompanied by the hotel head of security. After reviewing the hotel security footage, John informed her the cameras had picked up absolutely nothing. Moon's killer was invisible.

  The elevator lurched to a stop and the doors opened. Stephanie stepped out into the parking garage, stifling a yawn. They had returned to the office so late that she was able to park right next to the elevator, and she beeped her car unlocked as she stepped into the garage.

  Kwan was in lock-up, being held until she could interview him. Next door to him was Turi, awaiting transportation down to Washington DC with Blake. Two dangerous criminals were behind bars. Stephanie should be satisfied, but as she opened her driver's door and slid behind the wheel, she wasn't.

  She didn't have the virus.

  She had Kwan, and Blake was right. Having Kwan was better than having nothing at all, but Stephanie wanted that flash drive. It didn't matter that she was 90% sure who had taken it. 10% of her wasn't sure, and it was that 10% she knew would keep her up all night, worried about who might have access to the virus.

  Stephanie stifled another yawn and started the engine, hitting the power locks and putting the car into reverse. She raised her eyes to the rear view mirror and froze, staring at the mirror, stunned.

  A flash drive dangled silently from the end of a black, nylon cord.

  Alina stood in the darkness, staring out her bedroom window into the night, absently swirling a vodka tonic around in its glass. Raven watched her from his perch, fluffed out and settled in for the night. Michael and Angela had both been waiting for her when she returned. Angela was beside herself and, after venting about terrorists and FBI agents who couldn't stop a bank robbery, she finally took herself off to bed three glasses of wine later. Michael, on the other hand, was strangely quiet all night, content to watch her with his hazel-green eyes.

  Alina sighed and raised the glass to her lips. Something was on his mind, but he showed no indications of wanting to mention it. Whatever it was, he appeared willing to let it go unspoken. She wondered if it had to do with Damon and their conversation the other night. Alina sipped her drink, then her hand stilled as a thought occurred to her. Her eyes narrowed and she lowered the glass slowly. Of course! Moon! Blake probably called Michael to tell him about Moon. Michael would immediately assume she had been involved. He knew what she did. He knew she killed men like Moon.

  Alina's lips twitched and she raised her glass again. Oh Gunny, if you even knew half the truth your mind would spin, she thought to herself. Shaking her head, she sipped the last of her drink and set the empty glass on the windowsill. It wasn't me this time.

  The smile faded from her lips and Viper gazed out into the darkness, feeling hollow somewhere in the vicinity of her gut.

  Hawk was gone.

  He hadn't said good-bye. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes as she had turned to leave the parking garage was one she knew well. She saw it each time they parted company and went their separate ways. When she reached the stairwell door, Viper had turned her head to glance back. Even now, staring out into the night, she didn't know why she looked back. They never looked back. Ever.

  Damon had been getting into the van, one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on the door. As she glanced back, he turned his head. Over the length of the parking garage, they had stared at each other silently. Alina's breath caught in her throat now, remembering the plummeting feeling of despair that had crashed over her as she looked at Hawk, one long leg already in the van, getting ready to drive away from her.

  Alina spun away from the window and headed for the dresser impatiently. She pulled open one of the drawers, yanking out a pair of running pants. Raven watched as she disappeared into the walk-in closet around the corner, between the bedroom and the master bath. He blinked his shiny black eyes and continued to watch until she emerged a few moments later, dressed in the pants, tank top, black hooded jacket and running shoes. Not wanting to run the risk of rousing Michael, she crossed to the window and threw it open, sliding up the screen and swinging one leg out. Raven yawned and stretched his wings, walking to the end of his perch and watching as Viper disappeared out the window. Blinking, he launched off the perch and followed her out.

  Alina landed on the deck softly and vaulted over the banister to land on the lawn, restless energy making her movements quicker than they should have been at two-thirty in the morning. After a quick stretch, she made sure her knife was secured on her ankle, then took off running into the trees. Raven followed, soaring over the tree tops, easily keeping his mistress within sight of his hawk vision.

  Viper ran through the woods, leaping over underbrush and fallen logs in stride, her blood pounding in her ears and her heart rate settling into a steady cadence. She ran to clear her mind of the memory of the two men she shot, two more pieces of her soul ripped away. She ran to forget the image of Hawk getting into a van to drive away. She ran to try to get away from the hollow feeling of loneliness eating away at her gut.

  But, most of all, Viper ran to try to erase the memory of the slow, sexy wink Damon had given her before she turned and disappeared into the stairwell.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “What the hell do you mean, they're gone?!” Stephanie exclaimed, her voice loud enough to be heard by John and Blake, waiting outside Rob's office.

  Blake raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee.

  “Is she always that quiet when she's in a closed meeting?” he asked John idly.

  John grinned.

  “Only when she doesn't like what she's hearing,” he answered.

  “She's a real spitfire, isn't she?” Blake asked, leaning against the wall.

  “You have no idea,” John murmured.

  “Any idea what that's all about?”

  “Nope.”

  They both listened to a deep, even tone inside the office, unable to make out what Rob was saying.

  “Is something missing?” Blake asked after they had tried, unsuccessfully, to eavesdrop for a few moments.

  “Apparently, but she didn't say what,” John told him. “She went down to autopsy to see Larry and came flying back up like a bat out of hell. All she said as she passed me was, “They're gone!'”

  Blake sipped his coffee and studied John thoughtfully.

  “Now what on earth could be missing from autopsy?” he wondered.

  John shook his head.

  “I don't know,” he said. “That's why I'm standing here, trying to hear what they're saying.”

  Blake grinned and fell silent, but after a few more minutes, all they could hear was Rob's low, even tone before it went silent. Blake glanced at John.

  “You don't think she killed him, do you?” he asked with a grin.

  “I didn't hear a gun shot,” John retorted.

  The office door flew open then, startling both men, and Stephanie drew up short, looking at them in surprise. John had the grace to flush, but Blake just grinned and sipped his coffee, meeting her gaze blandly.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Listening,” Blake replied.

  Stephanie opened her mouth to blast him with a scathing response, but ended up chuckling instead.

  “Did you hear anything?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Stephanie glanced over her shoulder and motioned for them to follow her. She turned and strode away from Rob's office, past her desk, and toward the elevator.

  “Where are we going?” John asked as the trio stopped outside the elevator.

  Stephanie pressed the button and looked at them.

  “I want to show you something,” she told them.

  Blake raised an eyebrow. He glanced at John, who shrugged, and the elevator doors slid open. They followed Stephanie in and, a few moments later, found themselves standing in the middle of Larry's domain.

  “Do you see anything wrong?” Stephanie asked them.

&
nbsp; John frowned and looked around hopelessly. Larry emerged from a door in the back, shaking his head when he saw them.

  “Any luck?” he asked Stephanie.

  She shook her head.

  “I don't understand,” John said, looking at the metal tables, all filled with cloth-draped bodies.

  Blake was a little quicker and started going from slab to slab, checking the clipboards. Larry watched him, then glanced at Stephanie.

  “You haven't told them?” he said under his breath.

  She shook her head.

  “Where are Lorenzo and Ramiero?” Blake demanded after checking all the slabs.

  “That's the question of the day,” Stephanie replied.

  John sucked in his breath.

  “That's what's missing?!” he exclaimed. “Two bodies?!”

  “No. Six bodies,” Stephanie answered. “All the Cartels.”

  Blake strode back to Stephanie, the teasing laughter wiped from his face.

  “Where the hell are they?”

  “Gone,” she informed him grimly. “Their remains, all the evidence recovered from their remains, and all the records were removed last night.”

  “By WHO!?” Blake roared.

  “The CIA,” Larry answered, pulling a plastic apron on over his scrubs. “I sent Stephanie up to Rob to see if anything could be done. Apparently, my work load is now six less. Not to worry though. I still have enough to keep me busy for the next few weeks.”

  John stared at Stephanie.

  “What does the CIA want with six cartel soldiers?” he asked.

  “I don't think it's necessarily the soldiers they want, as much as the evidence that went with them,” she replied.

  Blake stared at her.

  “What are you saying?” he asked softly.

  Stephanie glanced at Larry, who chuckled and waved his hand dismissively.

  “Don't mind me, my dear,” he told her, heading to the far slab. “I'm just the one who cuts them up. I don't care about the politics that put them here.”

  Stephanie smiled despite herself and looked at Blake.

  “You already know what I'm thinking,” she told him quietly, the smile fading from her face. “You realized it yourself last night when you saw Moon.”

  Blake's brown eyes met hers, his face unreadable.

  “Well, would you care to fill me in?” John demanded. “Apparently I'm the only one here who doesn't have a clue.”

  “Lorenzo and Ramiero were shot with .22 caliber rounds,” Blake said slowly, not taking his eyes off Stephanie's. “Last night, when I examined Moon, I said it looked like the same round.”

  John whistled.

  “And now they're gone,” he breathed, understanding dawning. He looked at Stephanie. “You think it was the Black...”

  “No!” Stephanie said sharply, cutting him off, unable to pull her gaze from Blake's. “I don't.”

  Blake's lips curved slightly.

  “The Black Widow?” he asked, his voice low and filled with amusement. “That's what you guys call her?”

  John stared at him in consternation.

  “How...” he began, then stopped, turning to Stephanie. “Oh, you need to explain.”

  Stephanie glanced over to the other end of the room where Larry hummed as he pulled the cover off Philip Chou, paying them no attention.

  “Blake knows about Viper,” she told John quietly. “He found out about her in August.”

  John looked at Blake.

  “Is that true?” he asked.

  Blake smiled faintly, watching Stephanie.

  “Well done,” he commended her. “What gave me away?”

  “Viper,” she answered with a rueful smile. “She said she owed you.”

  Blake threw back his head and laughed.

  “Did she now?” he chortled.

  “Ok, look, I'm feeling really stupid right now,” John interrupted. “If she owes him, why did her agency take his cartel bodies?”

  Blake sobered at the reminder of the missing bodies.

  “I don't know,” Stephanie lied, glancing at John.

  Blake cast her a sharp glance and Stephanie resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. She returned her gaze to him and caught her breath. He knew she was lying. She could see it in his eyes.

  “If you don't think she killed Moon, then what do you think?” John demanded with a frown. “The CIA doesn't just take evidence on a whim. At least, not on a regular basis. Well, at least not usually from the FBI,” he tried to clarify, his voice trailing off.

  Blake grinned and slapped John on his shoulder.

  “Welcome to Washington,” he told him.

  “I think the CIA was behind this whole thing from the beginning,” Stephanie answered John's original question in a low voice. “They made sure everyone who came close to Kwan was warned off, except us. We have two musicians with classified military files dead after trying to kill Kwan, shot by a sniper we can't find. We have the same caliber pistol killing two cartel soldiers and the head of a North Korean terrorist regime, and now the evidence linking the one with the others is gone. And all of this centered around a virus capable of causing global economic collapse. Frankly, I think we were played from the very beginning.”

  “And you don't think the Black Widow had anything to do with it?” John demanded, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Steph, babe, listen to yourself.”

  “Oh, I think she was involved,” Stephanie said with a nod. “I just don't think she was the one sent to kill Moon.”

  John ran a hand through his hair.

  “Then who was?” he asked.

  Stephanie shrugged.

  “We'll never know,” she replied.

  “Well, I call this a bunch of bullshit,” John announced.

  Blake grinned and glanced at Stephanie thoughtfully.

  “Anything involving that agency is usually heaped with the stuff,” he told John. “We're lucky to get out of this with our jobs. Usually, when they run the kind of operation Stephanie's describing, the only ones left standing in the end are them.”

  “Not to sound naïve, but I didn't think Viper's department was like that,” John murmured.

  Stephanie looked at him grimly.

  “Oh, I don't think for one second her department was behind this,” she told him. “In fact, I think they're the ones who saved our asses.”

  Blake watched the armored transport van roll out of the parking garage, headed for Washington with Turi secured inside. As it turned and disappeared from view, he turned to look at Stephanie.

  “Agent Walker, it was definitely interesting,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Stephanie laughed, grasping it.

  “I tried to warn you when we first met,” she told him. “Do you still think easy is boring?”

  Blake grinned, his brown eyes meeting hers.

  “Maybe something in between next time,” he admitted, releasing her hand. “I have to admit, though, you have some pretty powerful friends in your corner.”

  Stephanie looked up at him.

  “So do you,” she replied softly.

  Blake nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket and turning toward the black SUV parked a few feet away. He hesitated, then turned back.

  “You know who killed Moon and the Cartel soldiers, don't you?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  Stephanie met his brown gaze and smiled slightly.

  “Have a safe trip, Agent Hanover,” she said.

  Blake studied her for a long moment before his lips curved into a slow smile.

  “If you're ever in DC, give me a call,” he told her.

  Stephanie answered his smile with one of her own.

  “I'll do that,” she replied.

  Blake nodded and turned back toward the SUV. Stephanie watched as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. With a wave, he pulled out and rolled up to the exit of the parking garage, turning to follow the transport vehicle.

  Turning back toward
the elevator, Stephanie found herself grinning.

  Blake Hanover had turned out to be nothing like what she expected, and much more discerning than anyone else. Pressing the button for the elevator, Stephanie stepped inside and turned to face the doors as they slid closed. Blake knew she was protecting an assassin.

  He would learn, in time, these particular assassins were worth protecting.

  Somewhere in Mexico

  Martese Salcedo scowled and slammed down the telephone with such force that the items on the desk jumped. He pushed back his chair and got up, striding to the window of his office angrily. Staring out the bay window to the swimming pool below, he watched as his young wife dove into the water. He didn't see her, or the dozen or so other bikini-clad women who were lounging around the pool.

  They had lost the virus. Worse, they had lost seven seasoned and veteran soldiers.

  And now Jenaro himself was missing.

  How had this happened?

  La Cabeza swung around from the window and stalked across the room to a table with a bottle and glasses. Pouring himself a shot of tequila, he tossed it back angrily and poured himself another.

  Jenaro had told him that this man, this invisible ghost they called the Hawk, was in New Jersey. He had also told him he had him under control.

  Tossing back the second shot, Martese slammed the glass down and returned to his desk. Obviously, Jenaro didn't have him under control. Not at all.

  A knock fell on the door and he called to enter impatiently. A maid opened the door silently and entered, carrying a tray with the mail and a box. She set the mail on his desk and then held out the box.

  “This came by Federal Express a few minutes ago,” she told him.

  Martese raised an eyebrow and took it, waving her away. She turned to leave and he tossed the overnight package onto the desk, turning to his laptop while she left. Once the door closed softly behind her, however, La Cabeza slid the box toward to him. He pulled out a switchblade from his pocket and sliced through the heavy tape sealing the box. It was heavy, and he wasn't expecting any deliveries. The return address was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Had Jenaro sent something back he didn't want to carry over the border?