He needed to stick with this. Find the blackmailer.
That thought was what gave him the momentum to stride across the overgrown lawn to the house. To push aside the fear for her and complete this mission.
The place didn’t look like it had been used in years. One of the front windows had been broken. Local kids messing around? The ‘No Trespassing’ signs should have been warning enough. He circumvented the house and headed for the barn.
The door had been slid open and leaves collected inside. Still smelled the same. Didn’t look the same, though. The floor was covered in debris. A small animal of some kind had wandered in, parked itself in one of the corners, and died.
Steve walked to the center of the room, stretched out his fingers, and then jumped. He grasped the beam above his head and pulled himself up. With his chin nearly touching the beam, he saw the spot where he had carved his initials. More letters flanked his—the initials of his teammates. Coupled letters spread all the way to the outer walls in both directions.
More than he’d thought.
Men and women who’d come here to be trained by the best. Formed into teams of covert operators. Steve had been twenty-two, and he’d figured being Army gave him at least some sway with the officer in charge of their training. That assumption had lasted about thirty seconds. Then Steve had been flat on his back, staring up at this very ceiling.
The officer he’d known during training had retired as a general and been killed at a think tank. In his life, that man had done more to prepare the people under his charge to perform covert operations than anyone else Steve had ever heard of. A man who, in his own younger days, had changed the course of one life to such a degree that it had been the catalyst for this whole thing.
That mission in Venezuela and whatever had really happened there. All the way to this place, where he’d trained operatives.
Steve turned away. Back to the reason he was here. Picking up a sniper rifle he was supposed to use to kill the president of the United States of America.
This whole thing was a delicate balance between saving the lives of people he cared for by playing along—and he had one particular person he cared about at the forefront of his mind—and figuring out how he was going to finish this without actually assassinating the president. He hadn’t exactly figured out how to do that yet. But it didn’t meant he wasn’t going to work it out sooner or later. That, or one of his friends would come up with something.
Remy was AWOL, so that potential assist was out. She wouldn’t have gone dark if she wasn’t tied up in something serious. Or hadn’t suffered a serious breach of her security.
Adrian and Megan.
Emma and Mint.
Bradley and Alexis.
Rachel.
Would one of them come up with something? The blackmailer would keep targeting Rachel. If Steve lost her, then he had nothing else in his life worth fighting to the death for. She was the only leverage the blackmailer had. And the fact he had uncovered that was interesting in itself, since it wasn’t like there was an electronic record of his feelings.
If she was killed…
He didn’t even want to think about that, but he had to. The fact was, he’d go dark. Off on a revenge spree with no care for collateral damage. Anyone who got in his way would be fair game. Steve would shoot the vice president, evidence or not.
No one was going to stop him.
Steve walked through the house, fighting the tide of decades old memories. He found the rifle tucked in the attic, right where the blackmailer said it would be. Steve flipped the latches on the case and looked at it. Blinked. This weapon? He fought the urge to say something he shouldn’t. What on earth? This whole thing was a serious mind flip.
He’d used this rifle years ago. And he thought he’d retired it through the CIA. What was it doing here?
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Steve drew it out. His chest tightened, wondering if it would be Rachel. He wasn’t going to answer if it was. The same way he hadn’t answered for any of his friends.
It wasn’t though. The buzz had been a text.
Further details will be forthcoming.
Seriously? Steve sat back on his heels. This was insane. The blackmailer knew he was here, knew he had just collected the gun.
Steve rocked back and stumbled to his feet. He surveyed the corners of the upstairs hallway for cameras. Listening devices. Some kind of sensor.
Was the blackmailer watching?
The man had this phone number. Did the contact mean he had access to Steve’s GPS, despite the fact Steve had disabled that function? He wanted to leave the phone, and the gun, go get Rachel and board a plane to…somewhere with no extradition arrangement with the US. Bradley wouldn’t be happy if Steve essentially kidnapped his sister. But they would both be safe.
It wouldn’t stop the blackmailer, though. He would only find a new target and the president’s life would still be in danger.
His team would still be in danger.
Running wasn’t the answer. As good of an idea as it looked to be.
Steve squeezed the phone so hard it almost broke. The blackmailer knew everything. And if Steve really did kill the president, it would only prove the truth about who Steve really was.
Something not even Rachel knew.
**
“How about this one?” Megan slid another page across the table.
Rachel stared down at the collection of six photographs. She pointed to the middle one, bottom row. “That’s who held me at knifepoint in the alley.”
So far she had identified two men out of the dozen or so pages Megan had shown her. “You aren’t showing me pictures of just anyone, are you? There’s a reason why you’re choosing these. Why I’ve been able to pick out exactly who I saw.”
Megan nodded. “The two men you pointed to were members of a team that Steve was part of. Special operations. A joint task force of men and women from the military and federal agencies retasked to other operations. It was run by the CIA, and we don’t know much of what they did. But it wasn’t peacekeeping. That much we can surmise.”
Her mouth twisted in a wry smile, and she continued, “Most of it was classified. Adrian had to pull some serious strings with the agents looking for Steve. They caved and showed him what they know. But no one has all of the information. That much you can be sure of.”
Rachel figured she could name at least one person who knew it all.
The blackmailer: Vice President Anderson.
“Would you like me to tell you what I know?”
Rachel shrugged. “It won’t change how I view Steve Preston.” Or how she felt about him. It didn’t matter what he’d done. Who he had been.
She also didn’t care if standing by him cost her her career. Her reputation. People already thought she was crazy. Rachel was still trying to decide if she was anything but annoyed by that. She couldn’t change their opinion, the same way she couldn’t change what had happened to her.
Megan shot her a look, like she didn’t exactly agree with Rachel. So what if it was bad? She knew what the movies said about covert operatives. Real life wasn’t going to be that far off—it might even be way worse. She could imagine plenty without the details.
“If Steve wants me to know where he’s been and what he’s done,” Rachel said, “then he’ll tell me himself.”
Megan shook the papers into a stack.
Rachel said, “Would it change how you saw him if you found out he’d done some of the same things that were done to you?” Megan had been kidnapped and terrorized, her undercover FBI partner shot in front of her. But Rachel also knew how much she respected Steve.
She shifted in her chair and held the file folder of pages on her lap. “I know it’s not a black and white thing, but he was working for us. You know, the US. Not that that makes assassination and kidnapping more righteous, like he was on the side of justice or anything.”
“Too jaded?”
“I’ve seen
the good and the bad in what missions are chosen. And I read the file. Steve has done some things that would make you want to put a panic room in your house and just live there.”
“But he was a chaplain in the Army first, right?” Rachel took a second to figure out what she was trying to say. “So he went into this already possessing that honor he lives by now. I can’t believe he’d have done it if it compromised who he already was.” The person she knew now was a man at war with himself. Maybe he’d crossed a few lines, but he certainly hadn’t given up his soul.
Megan shrugged one slender shoulder. “He’s still my boss. I have a hard time believing in either pure good or pure evil. Not as far as God, because the spiritual world is different. But people? We’re flesh. And unless we’re walking in the Spirit, we make all kinds of irrational decisions. Bad choices. We hurt people.”
Rachel nodded. “Alexis told me it’s like having a battle going on inside you.”
“And you can surrender to either side at any given moment,” Megan said. “I’ve seen evil, and I’ve seen good. I try my best, and I believe Steve does as well. Whether that’s to make up for what he did, or because it’s who he wants to be, doesn’t matter. What we do speaks to our character, and I trust what I know of his.”
“That’s exactly why I will stand by him. No matter what anyone—”
Bradley’s voice rang across the room. “You’re going to martyr yourself for Steve?”
She swung around in the chair to face him. “Why not?” Despite the thunder in his eyes, she continued, “He deserves loyalty, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give him.”
“Even if it destroys everything you have?”
“What do I have?” And the answer to his question was an unequivocal yes. “A public life in politics.”
“One most people would envy.”
“Why?”
Bradley blinked. “I don’t know. They just would.”
Not everyone wanted to be in politics, and that was fine. People should do what they love. But Rachel was losing her joy for her work. Maybe she was jaded, like Megan, because she’d seen too much. Experienced too much trauma.
What was it she’d said to Megan about her therapist? The woman was going to have a field day helping Rachel sort all this out.
Rachel waved a hand. “I’m not arguing with you.”
“Good plan.” Alexis wiggled between him and the doorframe. She stepped up onto her tiptoes and planted a kiss on Bradley’s cheek. Then she came over and gave Rachel a hug.
Rachel shut her eyes and held on to her friend.
“You really stabbed him in the throat with a letter opener?” She leaned back.
Rachel shrugged.
“I guess my lessons paid off.” Bradley poured himself a cup of coffee.
Rachel and Alexis shared a smile. His ego was big enough without her giving him the credit for anything.
“So what’s the plan?” Alexis glanced at each of them in turn.
“I figure I’ll stay here for…like, ever.” Rachel slumped into the chair she’d been sitting in before her brother and his wife showed up. “I’m less likely to get attacked here. Plus I assume there are beds. Someone from my office could bring me clothes.”
Megan smiled. “Protective custody.”
“I’m not leaving the building. I’m staying right here.” Why would she go anywhere, with anyone, when every time she did that someone came out of the woodwork to try and kill her? She shuddered. “Try to make me leave.”
“No one is going to do that,” Bradley said in a low voice that might’ve sounded threatening if she didn’t know that his protective streak was all about her and Alexis.
“Agreed.” Megan lifted her phone from the table and looked at the screen. “The tech looking at your cell phone has an update. He’s on his way here.”
A minute later, a wiry man with a tangled mess of overgrown hair on top of his head rapped on the door. “Senator Harris?” His face lit up.
“That’s me.”
“Wow. This is like…whoa.” He waved his arms around but didn’t seem to be holding her phone.
“You’ve been looking at my cell phone?”
His face fell. “I didn’t see anything you wouldn’t have been okay with. I was very discreet.”
Was it worth explaining that she wasn’t someone who kept sensitive anything on her phone? Yet another person who’d made up their own mind about what she did with her private life. She smiled. “Of course you were.”
Across the room, Bradley looked about ready to explode from his seat.
She said, “Did you find anything interesting on there, software or anything like that?”
“Actually, yeah.” He ran a hand over his hair. “There’s a worm. It’s feeding back a record of everything you say and do on your cell phone to an IP address.”
Megan stood. “Can you trace it? Get us a location?”
“I’m running the program now, but it’s bouncing all over the place. Whoever he is, he’s good.”
“We know,” Rachel said, mostly so he didn’t feel too bad if it came up with nothing.
Bradley straightened to rest both fists on the tabletop. “Find out who it is.”
“Uh.” The tech stammered. “I can try.”
“Then go do that.”
He rushed out.
Rachel turned to her brother. “That was rude.”
“Your fan club president needed to get back to work.”
Alexis glanced at Rachel. They both sighed.
Bradley said, “What? What did I say?”
Chapter 10
Considering it had been Megan’s idea, Rachel didn’t have to do much convincing to allow the FBI to let her go off on her own. Wearing a wire. A team of feds all around her, disguised as regular folks, watching and waiting to see if there was another attempt on her life.
Rachel had made it seem like she was hemming and hawing, thinking it over. In reality, she’d been vacillating between fear that Megan was right and someone else would try to kill her, and wanting to jump at the chance for the FBI to catch one of these guys.
Now that she was minutes from walking out of the FBI office, she’d gone back to fear.
“Put this on.” Bradley shoved a bulletproof vest at her. Like she was going to say no to that? Alexis smiled. Then he handed one to his wife as well. “You too.”
Rachel’s friend’s amusement dissipated. “I’ll be fine.”
“You still wear the vest.” He shifted closer to Alexis and fastened the straps for her. “You do what the agent says. Just go home and sit tight. Like normal.”
She nodded. “Spaghetti or a stir fry?”
“What?”
“For dinner.”
“Oh. Stir fry.”
“Beef or chicken?”
Rachel chuckled. Bradley shot her a look. She said, “You guys. So domesticated.”
Alexis smiled, “Your time will come.”
Rachel shook her head, not even wanting to get into that. She turned to Adrian, off his phone now. “I’m ready.” She pulled her coat on over the vest and slid her hair out of the collar.
Adrian nodded. “Okay.”
Bradley snagged her elbow. “Be. Careful. I’ll be right behind you, but I don’t want to see you putting your neck out.”
She knew he had to say it. These were dangerous times for all of them, and any one of their group could be targeted at any moment. There was really no way to escape the danger. Not even if she stayed here—which wasn’t practical. Turning the tables on the blackmailer and doing something unpredictable might actually be what gained them a result.
“I will.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and gave her brother a kiss on the cheek.
She was going out there, but he would be right behind her. And there was no one else she wanted to watch her back. Not just because he was her brother. Or the fact he’d been a Navy SEAL before he retired to work for Steve.
A minute later she left the FBI office.
Vest on. Wire under her shirt so the FBI could record everything. She would be safe, no matter what fear—or logic—told her about what she was going to do.
Ten minutes later, she’d walked around two busy street corners full of holiday tourists braving the winter weather. No point in isolating herself so the FBI had to stay too far out of sight just to keep from being seen. There were agents on the sidewalk in front and behind her, keeping pace. Watching. Blending in.
A man walking the same direction shifted alongside her, too close. Trying to pass her? Rachel sidestepped, but he snagged her arm and pulled her to his side. She gasped. Ice immediately washed over her. Her body’s own warning system of danger. Maybe her therapist was right, that she would be hypersensitive for a while before things went back to normal. Or maybe this was life now.
Danger.
Fear.
“Keep walking.” His grip on her arm was tight enough, she’d likely end up with bruises.
A lump rose in her throat. She tried to speak, but could only choke out a noise that meant nothing but that she was scared. The FBI were close. She needed to remember that. To trust them. But trust in anyone didn’t come easy.
“Nice and steady,” he said. “Nothing to it.”
She sucked in a choppy breath and glanced up at him. Stubble on the lower half of a craggy face she didn’t recognize. He was probably late forties, or into his fifties—or hard living made him look older than he was. She should ask him a question. Get him to tell them something about the blackmailer, or why he was trying to kidnap her. But she couldn’t think of where to start.
Rachel’s heel clipped an uneven part of the sidewalk and she stumbled.
He dragged her back upright. “Eyes front.”
She righted her stride, and they kept going, faster now. He tugged her around a corner. Toward one of those back street tourist parking lots that cost way too much.
Tires squealed.
He started to spin around. Agents jumped out from every angle. The cavalry was here. Rachel planted her right foot, twisted her hips and slammed her left fist into his stomach.
He doubled over coughing.
Deadly Holidays Page 8
