Lear

by Jasinda Wilder

  She eyed me. “How do you know these people?”

  I laughed. “You come across each other here and there. When there’s only a handful of people in the world who can do what you do as well as you can do it, you get curious.”

  Cuddy snickered. “You fucked her.”

  I sighed. “Yes, once. It was…complicated.”

  “The sex was complicated, or the relationship was?”

  “Everything. We knew each other from college—we both went to MIT together, had a lot of the same classes. She hung out with a much different crowd than me, so we never really crossed paths. But we were both recruited by several of the same three-letter agencies at the same time. We both chose the same one, were hired in at the same time, and then the powers that be decided it would be most effective to pit us against each other. It was already a highly competitive field, but they amped it up between Alice and me. It got…ugly. I refused to stoop to some of the levels she did in her attempts to come out on top, but that ended up backfiring for her. She was let go and I was promoted, and that was part of what turned her so vehemently antiestablishment—and probably with a vendetta against me personally.”

  “And somewhere in the process of competing with each other for the attention of the brass, you met for drinks, fucked, and that only made it worse because one of you wanted more, and the other didn’t?”

  I laughed at her guess. “You’re half right. Where you were wrong was the idea of one of us wanting more.” I scratched my jaw, watching the traffic around us for signs of a tail. “It was drunk sex, and it was…batshit crazy. We woke up sober, looked at each other like, ‘what the fuck did we do?’ and went our separate ways. It made the competition between us even nastier, because she kept making it personal, whereas I was trying to keep it professional.”

  “And this is the woman who’s trying to track you down right now?”

  I nodded. “I’m only guessing, but I’d say I’ve got a ninety percent chance of being right. And if it is Alice, that makes me nervous. Because she’s unpredictable. And very, very, very good.”

  “Better than you?”

  I bobbed my head side to side. “Hard to say, as it’s difficult to quantify that with any certainty. Like Yancy, what gives her a certain kind of edge is her willingness to use nefarious, illegal, and unethical methods to accomplish her aims.”

  “You won’t break the law?” Cuddy asked with a wry grin.

  I snorted. “Oh, no, I will, obviously. But only if necessary, and I won’t harm innocent people in the process. The explosives that went off were designed to destroy that house and only that house, minimizing collateral damage as much as possible. Alice would’ve just made it the biggest, hottest, most destructive explosion possible, and wouldn’t have given a fuck about the neighbors.”

  A few minutes of silence ensued as we continued our trip through the suburbs. “What do you consider batshit crazy sex, out of curiosity?”

  I eyed her sidelong. “I’ve always considered it ungentlemanly to talk about past experiences in any kind of detail, especially with a current interest.”

  She blinked at me. “Current interest?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. You think I’ve forgotten what happened? I told you I’d shelve it till circumstances allow us to…” A beat of silence as I hunted for the right way to finish that, “…revisit the situation.”

  She reached back, snagged the HK MP5A from the floor, set it on her lap, dug in the rucksack at her feet for the cleaning kit, and set about stripping the weapon and cleaning it with vigorous obsession.

  “No response to that?” I asked, after it became clear she wasn’t just thinking about her answer—she wasn’t going to respond at all.

  She shrugged. “No, not really.” She polished the interior of the barrel, peered down it, polished some more.

  “Danielle, we’re going to be in this car alone together for hours. Might as well talk.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Just not about that.”

  “Why not?”

  She set the barrel aside and went to work on the firing mechanism. “It’s a distraction. I’m not interested in distractions. They get you killed.”

  I didn’t respond for a moment, watching a black Suburban pull out of a gas station and slide up behind us. “I’m not distracted,” I said, eventually. “I’m just making conversation.”

  “You didn’t want to talk about your ex, I don’t want to talk about what happened between you and me.” She was focused on the work of her hands, and was missing my sudden shift in focus.

  “She’s not my ex, she’s someone I had sex with one time. There’s a difference.” The Suburban followed as I made a series of unexpected turns. “If you were just someone I was working with, I’d probably—well, no, even then I wouldn’t talk details. It’s just not who I am.”

  She set that piece aside on her lap and returned to the barrel, reexamining it critically. “You think telling me details of what you did in bed with some lady, however many years ago, is going to alter my perception of you, somehow?”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s not it. It’s a matter of personal principles.”

  She went to work on the magazine chamber and ejection mechanism. “So you’re telling me when this is all over, you’re not going to talk to your buddies in your squad about me?”

  I let out a breath, considering. “I’d say I hooked up with you, and they’d probably press me for details, but I’d give them the same answer. Of course, Thresh and Duke are both disgustingly open about their sexual proclivities…although, now that they’ve got serious relationships, it’s less graphic, thankfully.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Thresh?”

  I nodded, glancing at her. “You know him?”

  “Of him,” she answered. “But who doesn’t, in the spec ops world? He’s damn near legendary.” She eyed me. “He’s on your squad?”

  I nodded. “We don’t really work in terms of squads. The six of us originals, plus the women, who’re all part of A1S, now—makes ten of us plus me.”

  “A1S, like Alpha One Security?”

  I nodded. “That’s my company—well, the company I work with.”

  She was silent a moment. “You’re L Winter?”

  I grinned. “Lear Winter, at your service, madam.”

  She groaned a laugh. “Alpha One Security is Johnny’s archnemesis. Your boss has stolen several top-end contracts from Johnny.”

  “Competitors, though, not enemies.”

  She pulled a face. “Depends on Johnny’s mood. When Harris got the Lonigan call over him, I think Johnny was seconds from putting an airstrike on your boss.” A laugh. “He was pissed.”

  “Well, he should have been thankful, because right now it’d be him and his guys dodging Cain’s goons.”

  Cuddy had tagged our tail. “You see them?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  "How sure are you that they’re a tail?”

  “Very sure. They’ve stuck on our six through some pretty sharp maneuvers.”

  “Got a plan?”

  I rolled a shoulder. “Sort of. Pull ahead, cut some sharp corners, hop out, shoot ’em up.”

  A slow nod. “Sounds good to me.” She checked the load on her HK, replaced the magazine, checked the sight, slapped the charging handle, and then let out a short sharp breath with a decisive nod. “You pick the spot, swing us around so my side is facing them, I’ll jump out and light ’em up.”

  I nodded, but I was conflicted. “I was thinking we’d both jump out and light ’em up.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t get all chivalrous on me now, Lear. I’m a trained professional with years of experience, and one of the top in the field. I’m more qualified than you are, honestly.”

  I held back my response as I focused on the next few maneuvers—a sudden sharp left through a red light and an empty intersection, another sharp left into a subdivision, and then back out onto the main road, across the deserted street and
into the parking lot of a strip mall, between buildings and around behind the businesses, squealing the tires as I swung a wide fast right in a semicircle. Jammed the brakes so the Blazer tilted hard to a stop, angled toward where our pursuers would emerge.

  Cuddy shoved the passenger door open the moment the vehicle was stopped, dropping to a knee behind the door, barrel pointed through the V where the door connected with the body in a classic movie cop pose.

  “Armored door panel and bulletproof windows?” she asked, not looking at me.

  “Yes ma’am.” I kept the vehicle in gear, clutch held in, shifter in first, toe over the gas pedal, ready to smash it to the floor. “It can’t take a high-powered rifle round, but automatic fire won’t punch through easily.”

  She flexed her grip on the underside of the barrel. Sucked in a long, steady, slow breath. Held it as the roar of a powerful engine echoed off walls. I counted to six slowly, and then the black Suburban barreled through the opening between the strip mall buildings, tires screaming as it swung around in a skidding arc.

  Cuddy held her fire until the vehicle was sideways, driver’s side to us.

  And then she opened up. Tacka-tacka-tacka—tacka-tacka-tacka—tacka-tacka-tacka—

  Three round bursts in triple sets, the first drilled through the driver’s window and sprayed glass and blood mist, and another through the same spot to send another crimson spray from the passenger side. The third burst went through the rear driver’s side window, more blood painting the opposite window.

  Cuddy hesitated a split second, and then with a hint of movement showing from inside the Suburban, she strafed the vehicle in a long burst of precisely placed rounds, walking them from rear driver’s side to the back of the SUV—tacka-tacka-tacka-tacka-tacka-tacka-tack—

  A pause, and then she was rushing toward the vehicle in a low running tactical crouch, HK tucked high against her shoulder. She angled the barrel in the driver’s window, swiveled toward the rear, sidestepped to the rear window, and repeated the swiveling scan of the interior.

  Tacka-tack. Double tap.

  Tacka-tack. Double tap.

  “Leave one alive for questioning,” I called through the open door.

  She turned to me with an irritated expression on her face. “Shoulda said something before I started shooting.”

  “Too late?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, a little late.”

  “Search ’em,” I called.

  She nodded, yanked open the driver’s side door and hunted one-handed through the pockets of the dead driver, who lolled and flopped and dripped messily. She came up with a handgun and a spare magazine, both of which she pocketed, a handful of wadded up cash which she also pocketed, and a cell phone. Three minutes and five more searches later, she had several handguns and spare magazines, four submachine guns and two full-size assault rifles as well as a thick wadded ball of cash, in mixed currency—US dollars, euros, and rubles—and a stack of cell phones. She piled the haul of weapons and ammunition in the trunk of the Blazer, and then slid back into the passenger seat. She dumped the wad of cash on her lap, tossed the stack of cell phones at her feet in the wheel well, and handed me a spare pistol, a gargantuan silver .357 Magnum with two spare magazines.

  “Jesus.” I laughed, handling the pistol with awe. “Who the hell carries these damned hand cannons anymore?”

  She grinned, lifting a .50cal Desert Eagle in both—for which she had two spare magazines as well. “These dudes were packed for bear, for all the good it did them.” She snorted. “Fuckin’ amateurs.”

  I eyed the howitzer handgun with wariness. “Can you handle that big bitch?” I stopped her imminent outburst by cutting over it. “I am in no way questioning your skills, training, or strength, Cuddy. But I’ve watched men twice my size struggle to control a Desert Eagle.”

  She grinned wickedly. “As a matter of fact, if they weren’t so goddamned unwieldy to carry around, a Desert Eagle would be my sidearm of choice. I’ve done extensive training with them. Out of pure personal enjoyment, mind you, rather than for any kind of professional reasons.”

  I nodded, chuckling. “Because you don’t do anything the easy way, do you?”

  She smirked. “It’s like you know me, Lear.”

  I bit back a sexual innuendo. “Starting to, at least,” I said, evenly.

  I guided the Blazer back onto the main road, careful to obey the posted speed limits and draw as little attention as possible—we had enough firepower in this vehicle to arm a decent-sized squad and I did not want law enforcement to discover it inadvertently.

  Once we were en route to my next safe house, I indicated the stack of cell phones on the floor by her feet. “Toss me one of those, would you?”

  She grabbed one from the pile and handed it to me. Fortunately, it was a cheap, older model dumb phone, a burner, and not something new with complicated security like facial ID, thumbprints, or six-digit codes.

  I dialed a number, put it on speaker, and held the phone in one hand while driving with the other. The phone rang six times—I hung up, redialed, and let it ring six times again. Six times I repeated this pattern of dialing and letting it ring six times. And then I set the phone on my thigh and waited.

  Cuddy eyed me. “The hell was all that?”

  “A code,” I answered. “Each person in A1S has a code—starting with A, count up, so A is one, B is two, and so on. Assign each letter of your first name a number—so mine would be twelve, five, one, and eighteen. Add them together, and divide the total by six—whatever the divider of that is, let it ring that number of times.”

  Cuddy blinked. “I’m not following.”

  I laughed. “I know, it’s complicated. My number is thirty-six, so I call six times, letting it ring six times each. Yours, C-U-D-D-Y, would be a total of…fifty-seven. So you’d call six times and let it ring nine and half times each.”

  She nodded. “Okay. So, then what? What’s the code mean?”

  “The number I dialed is for a landline monitored by my boss’s wife, Layla. There’s no voicemail set up, so it’ll just ring and ring forever, right? Old school. The code is an emergency alert—it means I’m out in the field, and I’m in trouble. I’m being monitored, followed, tapped, or otherwise tagged in such a way that I dare not go back to base, or make a direct call for fear of leading the bad guys back to them.”

  “So it’s just a way of letting the folks back home know you’re up shit creek?”

  “Without a boat or a paddle, and there are gators in the water,” I clarified.

  “So the alert was put out, your people know you’re in trouble…then what? They call back?”

  I shook my head. “No. They mobilize. The landline is connected to a desktop computer with only one piece of software on it, dedicated to a single purpose—locating the last known location of the call.”

  “So they know where to start looking.”

  “Right. Normally, I’d be the one to use my mad hacker skills to find whoever was in trouble. In this case, I’m the one in trouble, so I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Puck is pretty damned talented with computers himself so, in my absence, I’d imagine he’d start the search. At least now they know Cain is on the move again, and they can start preparing.”

  “You don’t think he’s going to contain his hunt to just you?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. We’re not sure exactly of the extent of his resources, to be honest. So far, he’s only gone after one person at a time, which leads me to think he doesn’t have access to enough manpower to try and hunt down more than one of us at a time—simply because we’re not your average targets. We’re highest threat level possible, each of us, requiring maximum personnel and firepower.”

  “But until your people find us, we’re on our own.”

  I nodded. “Right.”

  She tapped the phone on my thigh. “This is clearly a burner phone, so why not just call them on it?”

  “Because if it were me, I’d be monitoring t
he phone traffic of my target and anyone connected to my target. Cain has found each of us at some point, so we have to assume that while he may not have the manpower to come at our whole group, especially when we’re scattered as we are at the moment, he can still keep tabs on us. This assumption may be incorrect, but it’s the best idea right now.”

  “So our plan is the same—head for your bolt-hole or safe house or whatever you want to call it, and…what? Regroup?”

  I nodded my head and shrugged. “Regroup for sure…and make a plan. I’m not going to be on the defensive, here. I refuse. This bastard has caused enough trouble for me and my crew, and I’m gonna fucking end it.” I laughed. “I sound like Thresh and Duke, right now.”

  Cuddy was busily sorting the cash into stacks of individual currency, and counting it out. “We’ve got two grand in US dollars, about six hundred in euros, and four grand in rubles.”

  I waved a hand. “I have plenty of cash in my safe house.”

  She eyed me. “How much in resources did you lose in the explosion, Lear?”

  I hissed in anger. “A fucking lot. At least a hundred grand in firearms and ammo, and another fifty in tech. Those are minimum estimates. I have a good supply of cash and other liquid resources squirreled away there too, but that’s stored in a fireproof, bombproof, waterproof safe buried under the subfloor of the basement, in a secret cavity, so once things cool off I can still access that.”

  “Liquid resources?”

  “Diamonds, gold, platinum, rhodium, shit like that.” I waved. “I have resources stockpiled all over the place. As a non-person, I obviously have no financial value in terms of assets I can list under my own name. Therefore, Harris pays me in cash and other valuable liquid resources, rather than digital, traceable currency.”