Deadly Cargo

by Jodie Bailey

  She walked out with him, shielding her eyes against the morning sun. It might actually be warm enough to—

  Three rapid cracks broke the morning stillness.

  Fire scorched her shoulder. As Will shoved her deeper into the hangar, Jasmine clutched her shoulder and felt the warm blood.

  * * *

  “Jasmine’s hit!” Will grabbed Jasmine by the arm and dragged her into the back corner of the hangar, away from the angle the shooter had on them.

  With his leash dragging, Scout rushed along beside them.

  From outside, shouts came from multiple directions, but they were unintelligible past the pounding of adrenaline through Will’s system.

  Closer to the door, Sean ducked for cover with Grace behind him and eased out to try to survey the area. He held his sidearm at the ready. “You calling it in?”

  “Got it.” Will settled Jasmine on the floor against the wall. Resting one hand on her bicep, he knelt beside her and jerked his radio from its holster. Then he identified himself and gave his location to dispatch. “Shots fired. Pedestrian struck. Request backup. Dispatch fire/medic to my location. Location of shooter unknown at this time.”

  From the far end of the runway, tires squealed. “Can you see him?” Hopefully Sean had made out something.

  “Black coupe on the other side of the airfield. Can’t tell make, model or plate. Too far away.”

  Will relayed the information to dispatch, then pulled gloves from his belt and drew them on.

  Jasmine didn’t move or speak. She watched with wide eyes, probably in shock. If the wound wasn’t bad, then the suddenness of the attack and the accuracy of the shot had likely muddied her mind.

  Scout hovered beside her, then lay down and nudged his nose under her hand where it rested on the concrete.

  “It’s going to be okay.” God, let it all be okay. Will threw the prayer at the sky along with a lot of more desperate, unintelligible ones. Easing her jacket away from her shoulder, he surveyed the damage.

  “How bad?” Jasmine seemed to come back to him, and her fingers eased gently over Scout’s head. His partner was a stellar sniffer, but sometimes he was even better at offering comfort. His presence definitely seemed to be working on Jasmine.

  There was a rip in her jacket and in her shirt. He eased the cloth apart. The bullet had grazed her arm just below her shoulder, leaving behind a wicked burn and a rapidly bruising shallow cut.

  He exhaled and lowered his head with a quick prayer of gratitude.

  “Will?”

  Rocking back on his heels, he laid his hand on her forearm and watched her face. “It’s superficial. How bad is it hurting?”

  “It stings. Nothing awful.” She sagged against the metal wall as the sound of sirens grew louder. “How did this happen?”

  “You mean how did someone know you’d be here?” He had his suspicions. Darrin could have slipped around to the other side of the airfield. Or maybe Keith wasn’t on that plane after all.

  “No. How did they not kill me?” Her voice was weak. Her skin was pale, and a fine sweat sheened her forehead.

  Will couldn’t fault her for the question. Getting shot—even grazed—was nothing to shrug off. “I’m going to have to go with God on that one.” The shooter had clearly waited for Jasmine to exit the hangar. If she wasn’t the target, he’d have fired at Sean, who was by the door, or at Will, who’d walked out first.

  Somehow, the bullet had traveled between her and Will with minimal damage. If one of them had been standing a couple of inches to either side...

  “Backup’s here. I waved the paramedics this way.” Sean approached, holstering his pistol. “I’m fairly certain that car taking off was our man. Hopefully the description of the car was enough so that they can apprehend him.”

  Two paramedics rushed in with their equipment. Will gave them a quick rundown, squeezed Jasmine’s hand and stepped back, motioning for Scout to stay beside her. She seemed to draw more comfort from the collie than from him.

  Will walked a few feet away with Sean, but he kept his eyes on Jasmine. He was half-afraid to look away. Every time he let his guard down, it seemed someone managed to get a potshot in.

  His teammate stared out the front of the hangar, where two more troopers entered. “This guy’s bold, going after her twice in the same way.”

  “Or he’s comfortable here.” As Will spoke, Darrin appeared at the entrance to the hangar. One of the troopers stopped him, and he tried to look around the woman to see Jasmine. “Darrin had time to get into position if he left the building when we did. He’s had time to stow a vehicle and get back here, too.”

  Sean shook his head. “It’s not him. Within a minute of the shots, he tried to exit the building. I had to wave him back in. He couldn’t have been on the other side of the airfield.”

  That was either a relief or a blow to his case. The pounding in Will’s head as his adrenaline ebbed wouldn’t let him puzzle out the answer. “How do we know Keith took off in the plane? He could be on the other end of that weapon.”

  “He could. But I’d think that would be easy to corroborate with anyone around here. A call directly to the plane from their radios here ought to tell us if he’s on board.”

  “The woman we met earlier... Christy? She should be able to do that.” Will tapped his fingers against the flashlight hanging from his belt as he watched the paramedics speak in low tones with Jasmine. “We can have her radio him to let him know what happened, and that should keep him from realizing we’re checking up on him. Can you be in there to listen to his response, see if you can gauge anything?”

  “On it.” Sean walked away, but then he turned back. He eyed Will, then looked at Jasmine. “Be careful, Stryker.” With a nod to the paramedics, he headed for the building, speaking to Darrin as he passed, who fell into step beside him.

  Be careful. Because of the shooter? Or because he sensed something between Will and Jasmine?

  He shook his head. Jasmine had become a friend. Nothing more. She couldn’t be anything more. He wasn’t going down that road ever again.

  “Trooper?” The female paramedic looked over her shoulder from where she crouched on the floor at Jasmine’s side.

  He stepped over and knelt beside her.

  Jasmine reached for his hand, slight desperation in her gaze. “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “She’s refusing transport.” The male paramedic looked up at Will with a Help us with this stubborn woman plea in the arch of his eyebrow.

  “Will, please.” Her voice was tinged with an emotion he couldn’t place. She ought to be checked out, just to be sure, even though he was certain the injury was minor. Why wouldn’t she want to play it safe and have a doctor—

  “Oh.” He rocked back on his heels as understanding crept in. Everything she did opened her up to discovery. Even small things could have huge ramifications if her photo somehow floated out to the wrong people. Jasmine was still fairly new to witness protection. She still guarded her identity with obsessive attention and wouldn’t go anywhere that might put her on the radar any more than she had to.

  Tears pooled at the corner of her eyes, and Will had the mad urge to pull her close, but he refrained. Right now, it was enough that she knew he understood.

  “How bad is it?” He addressed the female paramedic. “Are we talking stitches?”

  “It’s superficial. At minimum, keeping it covered should help. So will some ibuprofen and lots of it when her adrenaline wears off and it starts throbbing. At worst, antibiotics wouldn’t be a bad idea. We recommend any gunshot victim be transported, though.”

  Jasmine shook her head, her eyes wide.

  Her fear tore at his heart. “Have her sign a refusal of transport. She’s in my protection. If she needs to go later, I’ll take her.”

  Neither of the paramedics appeared to like h
is answer, but Jasmine was his biggest concern. Three times while she was in his care, someone had managed to reach her. And each time, the danger had drawn closer.

  The next time might be the time the bullet found its mark.

  THIRTEEN

  A squeaking, out-of-control squeal jerked Will out of sleep. A mournful dog howl overlapped the din.

  Sitting straight up, Will fumbled for his weapon, squinting in the sudden brightness. Not at his hip. Where was he?

  Grimacing against the noise, which stopped abruptly, he fought for full alertness. The airport. Jasmine was shot and refused transport. They ushered her back to the hotel.

  The hotel.

  Will squeezed his eyes tight and opened them slowly against the light, shaking his head to clear it. The beige pattern on the bedspread hurt his eyes. He must have been sleeping hard. Scrubbing the cobwebs away with the palms of his hands, he glanced in the direction of the hideous screech.

  Sean sat on the edge of his bed, harmonica in hand.

  Will swung his legs around and dropped his feet to the floor. He pressed his palm to his forehead, hoping to stem the dull ache building in his brain. “Seriously?”

  With a grin, Sean blew a quick, discordant note, and Grace yipped a high-pitched bark. “Yes, seriously. I have to practice, and Grace likes to sing along.”

  “In a hotel? Where we’re trying to lie low and people are probably trying to sleep?” Will tried to see the clock, but it faced the other man. “What time is it?”

  “Not time for anybody to sleep.” Sean blew three quick notes that had not a single thing to do with one another, then wiped down the harmonica and laid it on the nightstand. “It’s not quite three in the afternoon. I convinced you that you needed to rest since you didn’t sleep last night and told you I’d keep watch. You racked out when we got back here. Remember any of that?”

  “Vaguely.” Will scratched his cheek and glanced at the door between the two hotel rooms. It was cracked open slightly. “How’s Jasmine?”

  “Asleep when I checked ten minutes ago.”

  “Even with the racket you were causing?”

  “Not racket. Music.”

  Will arched an eyebrow as he stood and headed for the door. He wanted to see for himself that nothing had happened to Jasmine while he was resting. He hated being out of commission but, for the safety of them all, downtime was necessary. “If that was music, what song was it?”

  “‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”

  “No.” There was no way that noise was a beloved childhood classic. He pulled the door open gently and peeked into the room.

  Jasmine lay on her side with her knees bent. Her breathing was even. Either she was even more exhausted than he was or she had the ability to sleep through the mournful death wail of a suffering water buffalo.

  “I can play it again.”

  “Please, no.” His head couldn’t take it.

  Neither could his stomach. He was starving. “We have anything to eat?” There were some protein bars in his backpack, but that wasn’t going to cut it.

  Sean pointed at the corner. “There are subs in the mini fridge. I had some delivered while you were snoring.”

  “I don’t snore.” Will glanced at Scout, who was content on his bed, then checked to make sure there was water in the bowl. Grabbing a sub, he dropped into a chair at the table and was halfway through the sandwich before he felt awake. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Sean glanced at his watch. “I woke you up on purpose. We’ve got a video teleconference with the team at three. You have about two minutes to shove that sandwich down your throat and make your bed head look presentable.”

  Will balled up his napkin and threw it at Sean, then grew serious. “Any idea why? A VTC in the middle of the day when most of us are on assignment means something’s up.”

  “No idea. Eli’s text just said it was an all-hands and to be sure we were available.” Sean pulled his laptop from his backpack and positioned it on the table between them. “You got a text, too, I’m sure.”

  Swallowing the last bite of ham and turkey, Will pulled his phone from its holster. Yep.

  There was a also a text from Deputy Marshal Maldonado, stating that, while Jasmine’s identity hadn’t been compromised, there was something more happening with Anton Rogers. He was following up on it but didn’t think it had anything to do with Jasmine.

  That was a relief. He couldn’t bear to see her life ripped apart again.

  Another text, this one from fellow trooper Helena Maddox, reminded him how quick he was to believe in guilt over innocence. She must have been talking to Sean.

  Well, he had news for the two of them. His thought process was slowly changing. He’d been wrong about Jasmine.

  Could he be wrong about Darrin and Keith as well? Sean had seen Darrin in the building during the shooting. Keith had responded on the radio, and GPS had placed his plane over the frontier.

  He needed to sit down with Sean and go over facts, not feelings. Somewhere, they were missing something.

  Will gripped the phone tighter. He’d respond to Helena later. Right now, he felt like this case had blown into a thousand questions, and his brain couldn’t form a coherent picture.

  While Sean dialed into the VTC, Will drained a bottle of water and dragged his hands over his hair. He hated the way he felt when he slept in his uniform. It was hot and uncomfortable and, even though he was pretty sure he’d been flat on his back, he felt rumpled and wrinkled.

  While he preferred jeans and sweatshirts to his buttoned-down uniform, he took pride in being polished and professional. Right now, there wasn’t time to change.

  “Will.” Sean waved his attention toward the screen with two fingers. “We’re starting.”

  Sliding closer, he surveyed the screen. His teammates were scattered around the state, working cases that called for the expertise of their specialized K-9 unit. Their faces filled multiple windows on the laptop. Poppy Walsh seemed to be at home on her couch with her Irish wolfhound, Stormy. Hunter McCord and Maya Rodriguez both appeared to be in offices, though neither of the spaces looked familiar. The rest of the team was assembled as well, with Colonel Lorenza Gallo and Trooper Gabriel Runyon sharing a screen in her office. Both of them looked troubled.

  Will and Sean glanced at each other as the colonel opened the meeting. She seemed to look straight through the screen at each of them individually. “We’ll start with the quick and easy. Will?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just before we came online, we got word of another anonymous tip on your drug investigation that came in early this morning, but it got lost in the shuffle of bigger news. Flight out of Kodiak about two hours ago. It’s too late to move on it, but I’ll text you the details. I want you or Sean to follow up.”

  A tip for this morning leaving an airport three flight hours away. Likely, it was as dead in the water as the other leads had been. “One of us will look into it.”

  The colonel gave a curt nod, then handed the meeting over to Gabriel. Whatever was happening, this was the meat of the call. Unexplained dread drove through Will.

  Gabriel faced the camera, his blue eyes dark. “We’ve had a break in the Missing Bride case, although I wish we hadn’t. Not this way.”

  Somebody was dead.

  Will scanned the screen to make sure his entire team was present. Only a slight bit of tension released from his chest when he finished his perusal with all accounted for. They might all be safe, but somewhere, another trooper or a civilian was likely not so fortunate.

  It had been five long months since the tour guide for Violet James’s wedding party was murdered. Five months since someone shoved bridesmaid Ariel Potter off a ledge while she was taking a photograph. She had survived and was now engaged to Trooper Hunter McCord.

  Initially, the team had suspected Violet Jam
es was the killer since she’d been implicated by the groom, Lance Wells, and his best man, Jared Dennis. She’d vanished without defending herself.

  However, Wells and Dennis were now on the run, and new evidence had surfaced implicating them as the killers, while Violet’s life was still in danger. Other than random sightings in and around Anchorage, there had been no confirmed evidence of where Violet James, Lance Wells or Jared Dennis had disappeared to.

  Gabriel spoke again, his tone grave. “There was a home invasion in Anchorage last night. Jewelry, credit cards and approximately seven hundred dollars in cash were taken from the home and its owners.” He glanced at something on the desk in front of him. “A thirty-eight-year-old male, air force senior master sergeant James Alessandro, and his wife, a thirty-six-year-old woman named Elsa Alessandro were killed.”

  Brayden Ford frowned from his box on the screen. “I’m guessing since this is tied to the Missing Bride case, that our suspects are Lance Wells and Jared Dennis?”

  The team looked stricken. Death, especially death at the hands of suspects they had yet to apprehend, was especially hard.

  The team’s forensic scientist, Tala Ekho, waved a hand. “Fingerprints from the scene point to both men being present. Further, Jared Dennis got sloppy. He drank out of an orange juice container while they were in the house. DNA from the container is conclusive.” She scanned the tablet she held. “Elsa Alessandro was shot in the back of the head and died instantly. The master sergeant was shot in the chest and died in surgery, but he was able to give a statement before he passed. He told troopers on the scene that the men in his house were the men from the news who were wanted for the murder in Chugach.”

  Confirmation that Wells and Dennis were cold-blooded killers. The victory was unbelievably hollow. Two innocent people were dead, randomly attacked by men who cared only for themselves.

  “They’re desperate if they’re willing to move into the open and brazenly kill.” Colonel Gallo’s voice was hard. There was no doubt she felt some responsibility for the murders. They all did. “The situation is escalating. We have to find the men and Violet James as soon as possible, before more people die. I have no doubt they’re searching for Violet, or they wouldn’t risk staying in that area. We’ve had unconfirmed reports of her being spotted around Anchorage, so it’s only a matter of time before they find her or kill someone else.”