by J. M. Madden
When he climbed back into the truck, he avoided her look. Which made her suspicious. “You did get two rooms, right?”
Devlin grimaced and backed out of the parking spot. “No, I did not. We’ll be safer together.”
Anger burned through her, and it took everything in Amberly’s soul not to yell at him. “I’m not staying with you, Devlin. There’s no fucking way.”
He spun the wheel of the truck as he backed into a parking spot on the opposite side of the motel check-in. Amberly knew he did it to protect the plate of the truck, as well as make it easier to pull away from the building in a hurry.
“I already rented the room, and I don’t have enough cash to get a second one. It’s a done deal, Amber. Don’t worry, there are two beds.”
Without another word, he got out of the truck and headed down the walkway to room 114. Ground floor, away from vending machines. Perfect positioning.
For several seconds, she just sat there, trying to control her anger. Three years ago, she would have been okay with his overhanded way of doing things sometimes. It wasn’t okay now. She followed him into the room, dropping her bags to the bed closest to the bathroom. She dug a change of clothes from her backpack, as well as a small cosmetics bag, and disappeared into the bathroom. She locked the door very firmly behind her, hoping he felt the burning bubble of rage she was fighting to control.
5
Dev knew that look. Amberly was so pissed right this minute. If he gave her some time under hot water, maybe she would cool off.
At least, that’s how it used to play out when he pissed her off when they were married. It seemed like that had been eons ago, though. There was a hardness to her that hadn’t been there before, and he could only feel responsible. More than once he’d tried to imagine being in her shoes after he’d left. It had to have been incredibly hard, dealing with the public and private backlash. Her dad would probably never forgive him, even if he did manage to take out Regent and save the country.
The pipes rattled in the bathroom, and he hoped she was relaxing. Moving to the door, he peered through the curtain at the window. The motel he’d chosen had been a little busy, next door to a bustling truck stop. It wasn’t cheap enough to rent by the hour, but it probably saw its fair share of nighttime business. Even as he watched, a woman in a super short, skintight pink dress walked across the parking lot, holding the arm of an older gentleman. Someone toward the corner of the building blared music pretty loud, and he had a feeling the cops patrolled through here fairly frequently. Once it quieted down a little, he’d swap plates on the truck and decide on a new mode of transportation.
A dark grey Dodge Charger rolled by, bass thumping, and he grinned. What better way to blend in than to look like a cop?
Amberly came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing a white tank top and a pair of black athletic pants. Her short, dark hair was a cap against her head. It used to be long, and beautiful, curls down around her shoulders. “Why did you cut your hair?” he asked impulsively.
She didn’t even flick him a glance. “It was in my way.”
Rolling her dirty jeans and panties into a bundle, she stowed them in her backpack. Dev saw her arm was bleeding again. “Let me get that for you.” He retrieved the first aid kit from his own bag, and a washcloth from the bathroom. “Sit down.”
Dev knew he was pushing his luck. He could still feel the anger rolling off her, but she did as he asked, sinking to the side of her bed. “It probably needs a couple of stitches,” he told her softly.
“I know. Just do it.”
Dev had seen men in combat scream like little girls, but as he threaded the needle through Amberly’s ripped flesh, she never uttered a word or sound. Sweat beaded on her brow and rolled down the side of her face, and there was a tenseness to her, but those were the only reactions to what he was doing. He tried to be gentle, but no matter how gentle he was, there were a few stitches that had to go deep. She gasped once and turned her head away, panting raggedly. At one point, she swayed and he worried she was going to pass out, but she didn’t.
The woman had balls of steel.
After stitching and bandaging, he handed her a couple of antibiotic pills. They were his from a year ago when he’d sliced his hand open with a box knife, but he would share them with her. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to throw this little kit together, and he was very glad he had.
As soon as he was done cleaning her arm, she curled up on the bed and pulled a pillow over her head. Dev smiled, shaking his head. She’d always slept like that.
“I’m going to shower.”
There was a noise from beneath the pillow, but he knew she would be out by the time he returned.
Dev took a few extra minutes to soak his own body under the hot water. Maybe he needed to take his own dose of ibuprofen. He wasn’t used to running around like this anymore. He’d gotten used to his easy security job, and telling people what to do for him.
Cliff hadn’t been happy about being left in charge last minute. “I don’t know anything about the Allen contract.”
“I know,” Dev sighed. “But this is a family emergency.”
That had stunned his buddy. “I didn’t realize you had family. You’ve never talked about them.”
“Ex-wife,” he admitted. “She’s in a bit of trouble. I need to go help her out.”
“Okay, Dev, but this had better mean a raise.”
Devlin had laughed at the time, but Cliff was definitely worth his weight in gold. When he got back, they would talk about money.
After toweling off, he left the steamy bathroom. Amberly hadn’t moved. He hadn’t expected her to. It was a shock to the body to be shot, even in the arm, and it took a while to recover. Yes, it was just a flesh wound, but it would hurt like hellfire tomorrow when it started to heal.
Dev dressed in a change of clothes and sat at the table, opening his rifle case. The rifle, an SR 25 7.62 x 51, was a good rifle, comparable to what he’d carried in the SEALs. He’d had to turn his favorite rifle, Requiem, in when he’d left, and that had hurt the most. That weapon had saved so many lives, and he hoped whoever ended up with it used it with the same success he had.
After cleaning the rifle and tucking it away for its next use, he catnapped, handgun on his lap, just in case. They were probably safe enough here, but there was no way he was getting caught with his pants down, so to speak. A little after three a.m., he sauntered down the quiet walkway of the motel, scoping out vehicles. The Charger was his top choice, if it was still here in the morning. More than likely his truck had been picked up on cameras, and it was probably best he left it here. If they made it out alive, he could come get it later.
Pulling a multi-tool from his pocket, he swapped plates between his truck and another, similar truck. The models were off by a couple of years, but if a cop ran the plates, it would take them a while to figure out the mess. Then he headed back to the room.
He wasn’t surprised to be looking down Amberly’s gun barrel yet again as he let himself into the room. “It’s just me.”
“What are you doing? You almost ate a piece of lead. Again.”
He grinned at her. “So glad you aren’t inclined to shoot me now.”
She shook her rumpled head and tucked the weapon beneath her pillow. “You might be surprised how easy it would be,” she warned. Turning, she laid on the mattress again and curled up into the fetal position.
More than anything in the world, Dev wanted to lay down behind her and spoon her the way he used to. They had fit together so well…
Instead, he turned the chair to lean against the wall and rested his gun on his thigh. No one would be coming through this door tonight. Resting his head against the wall, he closed his eyes.
6
Amberly woke in the most pain she could remember having for a long time, and the smell of cheap motel coffee in her nose.
The sun was up, but it seemed foggy outside. A result of being near the Illinois River, pe
rhaps?
She blinked, trying to decide what had woken her. Must have been Devlin, stuffing items in his bag. “We need to get out of here soon,” he murmured, voice raspy from disuse. “There’s a Charger down the way I’ll snag us.”
“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let me go pee and get dressed.”
And take a buttload of ibuprofen.
Within about ten minutes, they were ready to go. Amberly slung her bags over her good shoulder and made sure her gun was secure in her shoulder harness. There was no telling what the owners would do when Devlin broke into the car. “Are you sure you can hotwire it?”
Incredibly, he grinned at her over his shoulder and held up a key fob. “No need.”
“How the fuck did you do that?” she hissed, but he kept walking.
There was a small chirp as he unlocked a dark grey vehicle, then slid into the driver’s seat. Amberly tossed her own bags into the back seat and slid in, pulling the seat belt across her chest. Her arm throbbed as she tried to fasten the belt. Devlin finally took the clasp from her and snapped it in.
“We haven’t even talked about where we’re going,” she groused.
Devlin spun the wheel and pulled out of the motel parking lot, merging into traffic. Within a mile, he was on a westbound on ramp. “Well,” he said eventually, “I know Regent is partial to his Montana roots. It’s where all his paramilitary friends are. It’s what he’s used to.”
His reasoning was sound, and it was probably the same deduction she would have made. “Actually, we need to go to Fort Collins, Colorado.”
Devlin glanced at her, obviously waiting for details, and she realized she was at a crossroads. Either she trusted him and filled him in on what she’d gotten from Necco, or she tried to keep him in the dark. One way led to cooperation, and the other a long fight. She didn’t feel like fighting. And unfortunately, Devlin was going to be the only backup she could call.
Did she dare message Frank, her former partner? Or did she now need to look at him as possibly one of the dirty officers at the CIA? Frank Callypso had been on the job for more than twenty years, and he knew more about the CIA than probably anyone else at the agency. It seemed like over that time he’d been through every division of the CIA, and had landed in counterintelligence and analysis. Frank thrived on gossip, he said thanks to his five sisters and growing up in Jersey. Just the thought of his heavy-featured mug made her smile. He’d been one of the few people who had stood by her when her life had fallen apart, and he had one of the most intelligent brains she’d ever met. If there was dirt in the CIA, he probably knew about it. Whether he would talk about it or not was another story.
Frank had also been one of the men tasked with escorting Regent to the airport that night. The thought made her pause in thought. It would be an incredible disappointment if he turned out to be dirty.
Brown was probably clean, even though she didn’t like him. She thought about the other people in her group. Madelyn Chan was also in the cold case department, but she was older and content with where she was. She had no aspirations of moving up or out.
Jake Dawson had been one of the most vicious in attacking her after Devlin had been implicated. She wouldn’t put it past him to volunteer to come after her. Oh, man… she would love an excuse to shoot him. His buddy Brent had also been a thorn in her side. Just because they didn’t like her, though, it didn’t mean they were after her.
Who had the power to order teams out on hits? Her boss, obviously, and anyone above him. Was there something in the file Brown had given her that was telling? Would he have given it to her if he was the dirty one?
There were so many options to choose from.
She turned her head to look at Devlin. “I don’t trust you. I just want to put that out there. If it turns out you’re playing me, I will absolutely shoot you in the balls and not think twice.”
He blinked his golden brown eyes, one side of his mouth cocked up. “I know that. I realize what a fucked up situation this is, but we have to work together. At this moment in time, we have no one else to rely on. Someone at the agency is trying to kill you. I think because you’ve come across a piece of information that will connect them to Regent. What were you doing in Chicago?”
Amberly sighed and reached back into her bag, retrieving the photo envelope. There was a smudge of brown blood on the front, hopefully hers, but the pictures themselves were fine. “Necco gave me these before someone shot him. That wasn’t your bullet decorating his forehead?”
Devlin immediately shook his head. “I got there after.”
She held up the stack of pictures. “This is what Necco brought me. He was with Regent up until a week ago, and he managed to get pictures of what he was working on. He’s planning something for 9-11. They’re not great pictures, but there are a few landmarks. One is this school, in Fort Collins, Colorado.” She held up the pertinent photo. “If, by chance, he’s testing out a new recipe, as Necco said, this may be a prime target.”
Devlin scowled as he glanced at the picture. “At what point should we contact the FBI? Isn’t domestic terrorism more their wheelhouse?”
Amberly sighed. “Yes, it is, and I’m sure the FBI is working on their own Cole Regent case. Regent is working with someone international, though. He’s getting backing from somewhere. Necco hinted that he’s working with the Russians again, like he did the first time. If we investigate and don’t find anything right off, maybe we’ll call in an anonymous tip or something. Not that they’d know what the fuck to do with it.”
Devlin snorted. “Come on, the FBI is doing good right now. They’ve only had seven news articles in the Post this week…”
She snorted, shaking her head. Seven was probably an underestimation. The FBI were idiots. She could hand them Regent on a silver platter and they would still fuck it up.
Well, so had we, she admitted.
It was a hard pill to swallow, being so publicly in the wrong. It was why Brown had put her on the cold cases. If he could get movement on dead files, it would prove that he was the man for the job. Personally, Amberly thought he was trying too hard to fill Hatchett’s shoes. The old guy had been there for ten years and had several epic cases under his belt when he retired. Brown was trying to take a fast-track career path and make a splash.
“I really do think we’re on our own,” she said eventually. “As much as I would like to have backup going in to this situation, I don’t know that I trust anyone enough to call them. I might call Frank at some point, but everyone else is out for themselves.”
Devlin nodded again. “Agreed. If you’re digging into dirty agents at the CIA, everyone will be on the defensive. You know that.”
“Agreed,” she sighed, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Plus, I have to work through the original investigation of how he escaped.”
Devlin lifted his brows at that, then slowly shook his head. “I’m sure that’ll be a page turner. I’d like to read that file myself.”
She turned to look at him. “Why? So you can see all the devastation you left in the wake of your attempted hit? How do you live with yourself, Devlin? How do you live with betraying your team?”
Devlin blinked at her, and his jaw flexed. It looked like he was biting back words, but she didn’t care. His actions had driven them apart, and they were still dealing with the fallout. He was supposed to have escorted Regent only, not taken a shot at him. This sniper veteran who had over a hundred confirmed kills as a SEAL had suddenly decided to turn dirty, on this particular target.
The only reason why that would have happened was if he was paid off. And it had to have been huge.
“I’d like to look at your file, all the same,” he gritted out, fury burning in his narrowed eyes.
He’s always hated being told when he was wrong, and this was no different.
Amberly pulled her laptop bag forward and retrieved the thick Regent file from the side pocket. These days, most of their records were digital, but the CIA insisted on having a
concrete copy as well. Which meant she didn’t even have to open her laptop and risk being found to research what had gone on from the time he’d hit their radar to now. It was all here. She flipped the folder open and started at the beginning.
By the time they got about halfway through Iowa, she was ready to do something else. While Devlin drove, she’d researched. The one time she’d looked up, the cornfields had lulled her into sleep. Or maybe it had been the pain in her arm. Whatever. She’d owned it and reclined the seat to sleep better.
They got sandwiches and filled up at a big gas station. “I want to drive for a while,” she told Devlin, and without a word, he handed over the keys.
Within minutes, he was reaching for the file folder. “May I?”
Everything in her rebelled at allowing him access to the top secret information, but she had to do something. And she had to trust someone.
Her stomach twisted at the thought of him betraying her again, but she forced herself to breathe through it. She gave him a nod.
Devlin read quietly for a long time, quietly pulling a pair of reading glasses from somewhere. Occasionally he chuckled or hummed under his breath. Then he hit the center section and began to ask her questions.
“Why would they plan it this way,” he asked, then turned to wait for the answer. She answered half a dozen questions for him before he reached the end of the folder. “Seriously? That’s it? There’s nothing in there about…” he paused and shook his head, tossing the file onto the backseat.
“Don’t mess it up,” she snapped.
Devlin went quiet, staring out the window. He didn’t say anything to her for a long time, so she turned on the radio. Tucking her sore arm against her side, she focused on driving. Traffic wasn’t bad and she found a Mustang cruising along at almost ninety. That would have suited her fine, but as soon as she slipped in behind him, he slowed down, thinking she was an unmarked law enforcement vehicle. “Damn it,” she huffed, swinging around him. She would just have to set her own speed, she supposed. With a throaty rumble, the Charger took off when she pressed the gas.
