by John Sneeden
“Can you give us an update on what you’re doing to locate the body?” Delgado asked.
Wilkins pointed at the boat that was anchored in the river. “As I said before, we have divers in the water right now.”
Delgado turned in that direction. As if on cue, a diver broke the surface of the water next to the boat and grabbed the gunwale.
“We also have two other boats searching downriver,” Wilkins added.
“I know it’s almost certain she’s dead, but did you search the riverbank for any signs she might have miraculously made it to shore?”
“The deputies who first responded checked the bank when they got here. There were no signs that anyone had come out of the water. No footprints. No blood. Nothing.”
“Who reported the accident?” Corbin asked.
“We got a call from a couple who live in a house on the mountain across the road. They were watching TV when they heard a loud bang followed by squealing tires. The wife told her husband to go down and see if there was a wreck. He initially refused, but after an hour or two, he finally realized she wasn’t going to give up until he checked things out. That’s when he went down and saw the skid marks.”
“Did they hear anything else besides the bang and the squealing tires?” Delgado asked.
Wilkins stared at him. “Like what?”
Delgado shrugged. “Voices. Someone calling out for help. Anything.”
“They didn’t mention anything else. I’m sure they would’ve told me if they had.”
Delgado nodded then remembered something else he had wanted to ask. “So how did you know there was another person in the truck if you only found one body?”
“We found your friend’s purse. Being the crack law enforcement officers we are, we knew right away it wasn’t his.” He chuckled.
“We were notified pretty quickly. How did you find out she worked for the government?”
“I found a laminated card in the purse. It said if the purse was found or if there was an emergency, to call the number that was printed on it. So I did.”
Delgado wasn’t familiar with the card, although it was possible Drenna had been issued one, since all of her work was in black ops. “And what happened when you called?”
“It was some government switchboard. I can’t remember the name of it. Something about the national security desk, that sort of thing. Anyway, when I gave the woman the name we found in the purse, her tone got serious mighty quick. She placed me on hold, and I had to wait for five minutes before someone finally picked up. That’s when they told me the woman who died was an FBI agent and that a team would be sent out as soon as possible.”
Drenna Steel didn’t work for the FBI. If that was what they told him, then it was probably a protocol put in place to protect her identity. That or Wilkins had assumed it was the FBI based on the switchboard operator’s mention of national security.
“I’d like to have a look around,” Delgado said. “Have your men cleared the shore yet? I don’t want to trample on any evidence.”
“I’m sure your crime scene people will want to go through it with a fine-tooth comb later, but if you just want to walk around, then have at it,” Wilkins said. “By the way, when are your people coming?”
Delgado frowned. It was odd that the FBI team hadn’t arrived yet. Then again, if local authorities had led them to believe it was likely an accident, the case might have moved down their priority list. “I don’t have an ETA, but they should be here soon.”
“Well, I’ll let you two do your thing. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“So what do you think?” Corbin asked as they walked south along the shore.
“I have to agree with the sheriff,” Delgado said. “It’s hard to imagine Drenna or anyone else surviving something like that, even if they were somehow thrown out before hitting the water.”
Corbin stopped and pulled out a cigar and lighter.
Delgado stared at him. “Really? At a crime scene?”
The man was addicted to cigars. As someone who despised smoking of any kind, Delgado was frustrated that Corbin never seemed to have boundaries when it came to the foul things. On one occasion, he had even lit one up in an employee lounge at Langley, an act that had led to him being read the riot act by their boss.
“First of all, this isn’t a crime scene. It’s the scene of an accident.” He flicked the lighter on and held it up to the tip of his cigar. “Second, you wouldn’t let me smoke on the way.”
As his partner took his first few puffs, Delgado pointed across the river. “I noticed that side is heavily forested. If she did survive, she may have ended up over there.”
Corbin pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “Why choose the riverbank that was farther away? The truck went down closer to this side.”
“If she got thrown into the water, then I think there was a good chance she was disoriented. She might have struck out for whichever shore her eyes fixed on first.”
“Maybe,” Corbin said. “But this is Drenna Steel. I don’t see her getting disoriented that easily.”
“That water is like concrete when hit after a long drop.”
“True.”
The two continued walking down.
“It’s odd they haven’t found her body yet,” Delgado finally said.
“If she got sucked out when the truck went under, then there is no telling where she might be by now. These mountain rivers have strong currents.”
Thinking it might be helpful to see the route of the river, Delgado pulled out his phone and toggled over to Google Maps.
“Just sucks if that guy was drunk,” Corbin continued. “Sorry bastard. You don’t drive around on mountain roads after drinking a half bottle of bourbon. Heck, you shouldn’t drive anywhere after drinking a half bottle of bourbon.”
Delgado slowed down, his eyes fixed on the map. “If they don’t find that body soon, they may never find it.”
Corbin turned toward him. “Why is that?”
“This river feeds into the Shenandoah about a mile down, and just a few miles from there, the Shenandoah merges with the Potomac. Both of those rivers run pretty fast.”
“They’ll find her,” Corbin said. “These search teams are trained to know how these currents work. I’ve heard they have software programs that can show them exactly where to look.”
“Let’s hope so.” Delgado put away his phone.
The two continued on in silence. Delgado kept his eyes on the sand, looking for anything that might provide evidence their partner had somehow made it to shore. Parallel to the river were some footprints, which Delgado assumed belonged to members of the initial search team. None of the impressions came out of the water, nor did any of them branch off and move up the bank.
About a hundred yards down, the beach ended at a stand of trees that ran up to the road.
Delgado nodded at the thick tangle of underbrush at the base of the trees. “If she managed to survive and make it to shore, she might have crawled in there.”
“Why would she do that?” Corbin asked. “If she made it out and was injured, then you’d think she would leave herself in plain sight.”
Delgado nodded. “You’re probably right.”
“Then again, she could have drifted downriver then come ashore into the trees. I assume the deputies have already taken a look, but I’ll take a peek just in case they missed something.”
As Corbin shouldered his way between two thick rhododendrons, Delgado decided to look around for anything that might indicate Drenna had crossed the beach. If she had reached shore, surely she would have left some evidence of that. Footprints. Blood. A strand of hair.
Delgado scanned the ground around him. Seconds later, he spotted a red-and-white bobber peeking out of the sand. Not surprisingly, a few feet away from it was a tangle of fishing line. Apparently, this stretch was a popular spot for anglers. It would likely take the FBI’s crime scene inve
stigators at least a day to sort through all the trash.
As his eyes swept across the rocks, Delgado caught the glint of shiny metal a few feet away. Frowning, he walked over to the spot and crouched down for a better look. He had expected to find a stray fishing lure but instead found what looked like a silver bracelet. Although he didn’t know much about jewelry, Delgado had seen this type of bracelet before. It was a C-shaped loop with a slight gap between the two ends. It was the kind that slipped on over someone’s wrist.
It was also the kind that could easily slip off.
Ignoring evidence protocol, Delgado picked up the bracelet with a bare hand and noticed two tiny charms dangling from the loop. One was a heart and the other a flower. His frown deepened. Had the bracelet been left by some teenager who had come there to fish or smoke cigarettes with friends? He supposed that was possible, but if they had, then it had been dropped only recently. The bright and shiny silver showed no signs of wear.
“Find something?”
Corbin’s voice startled Delgado out of his thoughts.
“No.” He deftly cupped his hand around the bracelet before standing up and turning around. “Thought I saw something but turned out to be nothing.”
Corbin nodded and took a pull on his cigar.
“What about you?” Delgado asked.
“Some broken limbs and a few fishing lures, but that was about it.” He looked at Delgado. “What now?”
“Let’s go have a look at the cabin. I want to make sure she didn’t leave something sensitive behind.”
Corbin took one final puff on the cigar then tossed it into the river. “Sounds like a plan.”
As the two turned to walk back down the beach, Delgado slipped the bracelet into his pocket.
CHAPTER NINE
Leesburg, Virginia
Drenna decided to spend the night in Leesburg, Virginia. Ordinarily, it would have taken only forty-five minutes to get there from the cabin, but she chose a circuitous route that kept her on the road for over six hours. The long journey included stops at various towns in West Virginia and Maryland before finally crossing the border back into Virginia. She also shuffled her mode of transportation on each leg, using a patchwork combination of Uber rides, taxis, and buses.
Although the trek was painstaking, Drenna considered it obligatory in terms of staying ahead of anyone who might suspect that she was still alive. The FBI would lead the investigation into the accident, and she had to assume that at least one field agent would put all the pieces together. And if they did, she needed to make tracking her as difficult as possible.
At one of the stops, Drenna had purchased a burner phone, which she used to call her sister Elena’s landline. She knew Elena would be at work, which was exactly why she chose to call at that time. She let Elena know that she was very much alive, despite what she might hear on the news or from the CIA. Drenna went on to say that she was investigating an important matter but would contact her sister at the earliest opportunity. Before signing off, Drenna told Elena to erase the message and never divulge that she had received it. She could never tell anyone that her sister was alive. Not even her most trusted friends.
After leaving the message, Drenna removed the phone’s battery and tossed it and the phone into the trash. She had taken a risk in reaching out, but she didn’t regret it. No way could she let her sister believe she was dead. They had both experienced enough death and pain in their family to last a lifetime.
Drenna had briefly considered confiding in her immediate supervisor at the CIA. Nathan Sprague was a supremely talented intelligence officer, and she was fairly certain he would go along with the idea of Drenna faking her own death. But after giving it some thought, she realized she couldn’t trust anyone at this point, not even those people she worked closely with. In fact, Sprague was one of the few people who knew that she was going to be in West Virginia.
Drenna thought about the other people she worked with at Langley. Few even knew who she was, and that was because she operated almost exclusively in the world of black ops. The name Drenna Steel didn’t appear on any of the agency’s official records, and she was paid by a fictitious shell company set up by the US government. She was a ghost who lived in the shadows.
In addition to Sprague, Drenna had also worked closely with Mack Delgado, Gabe Corbin, and Geoff Raymer, her technology liaison. There were also a few others at the agency who knew of her existence, including those at the top of the organizational chart and a woman in HR who handled the payment of Drenna’s salary through the shell company. But none of them would have reason to want her dead. Yes, she could be a hard woman who demanded perfection. In fact, she had even dressed a few people down. But it wasn’t the kind of thing people killed over.
No, this was something deeper, something darker. And to figure out what it was, she would have to peel back the layers of the onion one at a time, starting with the men who had been sent to kill her. If she found them, she might be able to follow the trail of crumbs to the rat behind it all.
The bus doors hissed open, drawing Drenna out of her thoughts. They had arrived at the Leesburg station. She collected her bag from under the seat and stood. While waiting for the others to get off, she scanned the parking lot for anyone or anything that looked out of place. Most of what she saw looked mundane, but her eyes fixed briefly on a gray SUV with tinted windows. It was backed into a spot, which would afford its occupants a view of people getting on and off the buses. She guessed it was someone waiting to pick up a family member, but just to be safe, she noted the vehicle’s features.
Her right leg still burning with pain, Drenna disembarked and limped into the station. Nothing in the lobby raised any red flags, so she entered the restroom and put on the sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat she had purchased earlier that day. It was a weak disguise, but it would have to do.
After making sure everything was in order, she exited on the opposite side of the building and hopped into the Uber ride that she had ordered while still on the bus. Fifteen minutes later, the driver deposited her at the Commonwealth Motor Lodge, where Drenna checked in under the name Nora Manning. She had found the place after conducting an extensive online search. The simple and outdated website advertised that the motel accepted cash and offered hourly rates. It was just the kind of place she was looking for.
After getting two key cards from the clerk, Drenna limped to her room on the second floor. Like all motor lodges, this one had no inner hallways. Each room’s doors faced the parking lot. While that had its disadvantages, Drenna liked the fact that she could keep watch over the entire property from her window.
Once inside the room, she tossed her bag on the table. She removed her hat and sunglasses and stepped over to the window. As she began to draw the drapes, her gaze was drawn to a gray SUV sitting at the far end of the parking lot. She hadn’t seen it when the Uber dropped her off, although she didn’t remember specifically looking in that direction. The SUV was partially hidden by another vehicle, preventing her from noting the make and model.
Was it the same one she had seen at the bus station?
She closed the drapes and reminded herself that there were probably dozens if not hundreds of gray SUVs in and around Leesburg. Not only that, but she had also looked for tails during the ride to the motel. As far as she knew, no one had followed them. She made a mental note to check the vehicle more closely later.
As she stepped over to the bed, Drenna was hit with a wave of exhaustion. She fluffed up the two pillows, stacked them against the headboard, then lay down and let her head sink into the soft support. Even beds in cheap motels felt good after an exhausting day.
She closed her eyes briefly then forced them open again. A series of images flashed in her mind. The images were beautiful and painful at the same time. She reached into her pocket and closed her hand around the phone.
Don’t do it.
One look won’t hurt, she thought.
But one look will lead to something else.
Against her better judgment, she pulled the phone out. The stress of losing Trevor had broken down her will. She would do this one thing in the hope that it would bring relief to her traumatized heart.
After opening Google Maps, she entered the name of a shopping center in Reston, Virginia. Seconds later, it came into view. She switched to street view, which allowed her to see the stores. She zoomed in on the one to the far left. Her heart beat a little faster when she read the name printed across the front glass. It was the first time she had ever actually looked at the place. Was she somewhere inside?
Stop. If you cared about her, you wouldn’t do this.
It was true, but she couldn’t help herself. Her fingers quivering, she enlarged the image even more, allowing her to see some of the people sitting at tables outside.
If you don’t stop now, then one day, you’re going to cross the line.
Drenna had spent the last eleven years carrying out one of the most dangerous jobs imaginable. She had been tortured, shot twice, and stabbed too many times to count. She had even engaged in hand-to-hand combat with men twice her size, men who had regretted coming up against her. And yet this fearless woman couldn’t force herself to stop staring at the image in front of her.
Drawing on what little emotional strength she still had, Drenna finally set the phone on the bedside table. She pressed her palms into her eyes in a poor attempt to make the pain go away. It was the first time she had ever gone that far—looking at something so personal. Trevor’s death had pushed her over the edge, and she wondered what she might be capable of.
Several minutes later, she got off the bed and stripped off her clothes. She then entered the tiny bathroom, unfolded a towel, and spread it across the floor. It was a routine she had developed over the years. She liked putting her feet on the soft fabric, and on this particular occasion, it would probably protect her from the bacteria that were surely growing on the dirty tile.
Drenna leaned into the shower and turned it on. Once the water was sufficiently warm, she stepped in and drew the curtain shut. She stood perfectly still under the showerhead, letting the hard spray beat on her face. It was refreshing and warm—just what she needed.
