by Juno Rushdan
Being near her, he felt human, hungry for a connection. But humanity came hand in hand with weakness, opening the door to mistakes. Maybe that posed the biggest threat to their survival.
He punched the air with his fist. The soreness in his chest from where the bullets bruised him bloomed into pain, peppered with a throbbing ache. He slogged out to Ken’s office where his old friend worked on the passports. Willow needed two. One with her real name to access the offshore account at the bank and one with an alias for travel. Ken was busting his butt to complete a job he could charge fifteen grand for, as quickly as possible, for free.
Gideon disabled the burner phone Ken had loaned him in the same manner he’d already disabled his own cell, pulling the SIM card and battery. “I need to hop on the internet.”
Ken pointed to a laptop in the kitchen beside the shotgun. An action movie played on the television with the volume low. Gideon turned to the news out of habit.
The weather forecast showed a tropical storm projected to head up the western coast of Florida into the Gulf of Mexico and inland over Alabama. Maybe this was a sign of good luck—at least it was one less thing he’d have to worry about.
Bringing up a web browser, he searched for local homes for sale on the water. Once he pinpointed a nongated community, he brought up maps with satellite images, looking for homes with boats docked. The commercial satellite imagery for Google was updated regularly and would give him a solid idea of where to find an available boat to steal.
A long street backing onto the Occoquan River showed fifteen boats. With some on-site recon, he’d be able to pick the most vulnerable one to snatch. First, he needed to load up on supplies. Depending on the speed of the boat he found, they’d be on the water until early Monday morning. Stocking up was essential to avoid stops.
Two days alone with Willow on the open sea in tight quarters. No way around it, but he needed to get his head on straight.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, his thoughts bunching over what to say to her. How in the hell to explain to Willow the problem was he wanted her too damned much? He’d never met a woman like her, who stirred his blood with longing, knotted his brain with crazy ideas of normalcy. Not even Kelli had come close to having this effect on him.
Gideon cleared his search history. “I’ve got to head out. Tell Willow I went to get supplies. I’ll be back soon.”
“No problem.” Ken didn’t look up from the table, wearing a respirator mask to protect against the fumes of the dangerous chemicals he used.
Gideon should ask Willow if she needed him to pick up anything specific, but he couldn’t afford to get sidetracked behind closed doors with her.
Head lowered, he strolled out of the doughnut shop to the parking garage. He’d never been with a woman so refreshingly raw in her sexuality. She took him from zero to a hundred, making him quake. Her sincerity and vulnerability were sexy as hell, and the body she hid under her clothes was killer.
He’d had his share of forward ladies, had seen a lot of dirty things—done a lot too. But Willow had a way of blindsiding him.
And he loved it.
He entered the garage, scanning for a different car to swipe in case the other had been reported stolen.
Two middle-aged guys turned into a parking spot and hopped out of a blue sedan.
The driver speed-walked, leaving the other behind. “Hurry up. This is the last time I see a movie with you on opening day. You know I hate to miss the previews.”
The passenger groaned and caught up. “Settle down.” He took the other guy’s hand and gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll wait in the concessions line while you grab the seats. We’ve got time. You won’t miss anything.”
Once they rounded the corner out of sight, Gideon checked the doors of their car. Open. He slipped in and popped off the cover of the steering wheel column to see if he could hotwire this one. A spark brought the engine to life in a rumble.
A mega store, one of those hypermarkets that was a discount department store rolled up with a grocery store, took up almost half a city block about two miles down the road. He pulled out of the garage and drove to it. There’d be lots of cameras but also lots of people. The facial recognition program couldn’t tap into every surveillance camera in every city. They were twenty miles from the Gray Box. Chances were good they hadn’t accessed any cameras this far south and focused more around the airports, but precaution was his best friend.
Head down, he snagged a shopping cart and a couple of cheap thermal bags to keep perishables cool. Checking to see if Willow had any allergies would’ve been smart, but he’d seen her eat poultry and dairy.
Steak, veggies, fruit, and sliced turkey made the cart. He avoided anything with nuts, strawberries, or shellfish to be on the safe side. In the camping gear area, he picked up a portable propane stove and instant ice packs that used a chemical reaction to generate cold.
In the clothing section, he grabbed extra T-shirts, a button-up shirt to conceal his weapon once they docked, and a pair of pants. For Willow, he estimated her size and tossed in a couple of wrinkle-resistant sundresses. He’d never seen her wear any patterns, always solid colors, and she’d never had a crease. He wasn’t sure if they bothered her, but no sense chancing it.
Heels weren’t practical, but gauging shoe size was harder. Kelli had worn an eight, but Willow had smaller feet. He threw a box of size seven Keds in the cart.
On his way to get toothpaste, he passed an aisle with condoms and stopped.
Shaking his head, he pressed on and picked up toothbrushes. He rounded the corner, waltzed down the aisle, and found himself in front of the display of condoms again.
Just in case. They were going to be stuck together in a confined space for two days. Safety first. He grabbed the value pack. But the only way to be sure he did the right thing and showed Willow the respect she deserved was not to get the condoms. Right?
He put the rubbers back.
Or he could get them in case things got out of hand. He knocked a box from the shelf into the cart. Having them didn’t mean he’d use them.
The situation could get messy. Ugly. Maddox’s words rattled in his head.
Willow needed a nice straitlaced gentleman who did sweet things and made her feel special every day. Besides, Gideon didn’t do sex tender and gentle and slow, the way a lady like her would want. His type was someone cut from the same cloth as him—another damaged, train wreck of a soul who enjoyed sex no-holds-barred dirty.
That wasn’t Willow. They made no sense together, and the last thing he wanted was to put her in a position where she felt trapped with him on a boat or beholden because he was helping her. Only a pig would do that to her.
He threw the box of condoms back on the shelf and hustled out of the aisle.
For once, he needed to be a better man.
18
Near Potomac Regional Park, Virginia
Friday, July 5, 1:30 p.m. EDT
Traffic crossing the freeway overhead rumbled low. Sweat beaded Cobalt’s brow. The muggy air was ten degrees hotter under the overpass along the rarely used service road. A slight breeze brought welcome relief from the godforsaken heat wave pounding the city, but the foul stench of death and desperation lingered.
Daedalus’s tactical unit was inbound. Once those animals were unleashed, they couldn’t be bought off, and they wouldn’t stop. No matter how much blood flowed in the streets, no matter how many cops, agents, women, or children they had to kill or maim to get the job done.
They weren’t mindless dogs. Oh no. They were merciless, organized, well-trained.
A shiny black SUV, windows tinted dark, turned onto the road, followed by two motorcycles polished to such a high-gloss finish, it looked as if they’d taken the time to roll through a car wash on their way over. Well, it wasn’t their necks on the chopping block if this went south.
The roar of the bikes thundered in the oven-like space under the freeway. The three vehicles pulled to a stop, and the SUV’s driver emerged. A familiar face, Ray-Bans hiding eyes of ice. Omega, Daedalus’s second-in-command. He was known for producing results. Rumor had it he once crippled a kid to get information from the boy’s father, then terminated them both.
Cobalt had first met Omega in Montana and was forced to watch his handiwork up close. Betray your country, you got life in prison. Betray Daedalus, you spent days in a tiny, dark hole, naked. Then Omega carried out the real punishment, the nature of which depended on his mood. Peeled off your skin if he was inclined toward benevolence. Diced you up if he wasn’t, starting with your tongue, ending with severing your ribs from your vertebral column.
Either way, you ended up back in the tiny, dark hole.
After Montana, Cobalt rarely saw Daedalus, but it didn’t limit his control. Distance only magnified it. He had fashioned himself into a god, and faith in his power didn’t necessitate his presence. For anything hands-on, Omega stepped in.
Wiping a hand over his square, clean-shaven jaw, Omega approached, radiating the lethality of a python on the hunt. Skintight black tee over a powerhouse torso. Dark pants highlighted the cruel ability caged within his muscular frame. The sound of thick-soled, heavy boots striking the pavement echoed in Cobalt’s chest. Omega circled Cobalt, the way a serpent would an injured mongoose, then finally stopped and held out his palm.
Gaze fixed on the jagged white scar on Omega’s bottom lip, Cobalt put a manila envelope in his hand. A sheet inside contained detailed information to help them find Harper and Stone in the event the electronic tracker was lost.
“Her father is in ICU at Saint Margaret’s. The address is inside. He’s her closest relative. She seems devoted to him. I believe she’ll go there.”
A smirk laced with strychnine spread across Omega’s face. “We’ll have coverage on the hospital, and we’ll close in on the tracking device signal.” He strutted toward the car. “For your sake, we better get the girl.”
Panic sliced through Cobalt like a hot blade. But bleeding out, entrails in hand, wasn’t an option. The only recourse was to fight, tooth and nail, by any means fucking possible.
“I took out insurance.” A neighbor held a sealed envelope containing enough information to bury Daedalus. If Cobalt didn’t retrieve the envelope in person in one week, it would be mailed to someone who wouldn’t rest until the scales were balanced. “I burn, Daedalus burns.”
Omega halted. Didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Cobalt almost shit standing right there. Maybe it wasn’t too late to take it back and pretend it was a sick joke.
Once time resumed, Omega looked over his shoulder at Cobalt. “Sure you want me to deliver that message?” His tone was venomous.
No matter the response, the message would be delivered. Better to reinforce the threat with a show of confidence than let fear dilute the only possible play. “Positive.”
“You’ve got some volleyball-sized nuts. I’ll give you that.” A vicious cackle boomed under the overpass, but it was hollow, devoid of humor.
Omega got in the car, slamming the door. Engines revved. The SUV streaked past with the roaring entourage in tow, leaving a bitter chill in their wake.
19
Springfield, Virginia
Friday, July 5, 1:55 p.m. EDT
The room Gideon had been in earlier was empty when Willow emerged. She had accepted the truth: Gideon’s interest in her was only professional, a means to get the mole.
She wasn’t sure which was worse, her anger over being so gullible, the overwhelming sense of disappointment, or the sting behind his actions.
Despite everything, she needed him. Escaping danger of this magnitude by herself was impossible. She hated this state of helplessness and dependency on others.
Ken still worked on her passports. She glanced at the four closed-circuit TV screens mounted on the wall beside Ken, rotating between real-time images of the doughnut shop, the stairwell, and various points around the building.
“Where’s Gideon?”
“Supply run.” The respirator mask he wore muffled his voice. “He’ll be back soon.”
Pungent chemicals stung her nose, making her back away. “I need to make a phone call.”
Ken’s gaze snapped up to her as he stopped working. “Who are you going to call, sweetheart?”
Tapping her fingers on the side of her leg, she focused on Ken’s shiny raven hair instead of meeting his eyes. “My sister. My dad is sick at home on his own. Without me, he needs help.”
He peeled off his gloves, opened a drawer on the side of the desk, and fiddled with a cell phone, putting in components. “Keep the call under forty-five seconds. I’m sure you’re running from something that you don’t want to catch you, and I don’t want to get burned in the process.”
“Okay.”
He held onto the phone, eyeing her. “Forty-five seconds, sweetheart. No matter what.”
“I won’t do anything to jeopardize your operation. I understand.”
He tossed her the phone. She wandered into the kitchen, trying to formulate the right words. If there were any, they didn’t come to her. She dialed Laurel. The line rang twice.
“Hello.” Laurel sounded light and lilting as wind chimes.
“It’s Willow. I’m in trouble.”
An exasperated sigh. “Angels don’t get into trouble unless they fall from grace.”
Gritting her teeth, Willow swallowed her immediate frustration. “This is serious, Laurel.”
“I’m driving the girls to their piano lesson right now. Can it wait?”
“No! I have to leave town for a few days. I can’t explain, but Dad shouldn’t be left alone that long.” Anything could happen to him on his own.
“Are you pregnant?” Amusement raised the pitch of Laurel’s voice. “Are you going off with a guy? Some decoder from work?”
“You mean coder. Not decoder.”
“Look, I’m the first to throw a party that you’ve got a life, and as much as I’d love to help, I can’t drop everything to—”
“I’ve never asked you for anything.” Willow sat at the kitchen table, rubbing her knee. “Not even after Mom died and I needed a lot of help. And what I am asking now isn’t for me. It’s for Dad, who has done a lot for you.”
Laurel groaned. “Fine. I’ll send Simone.”
“Simone?” The au pair?
Dad had met her the one time they’d been invited to Connecticut for Thanksgiving and hated her instantly. He’d warned Laurel that her husband was sleeping with the vivacious lady and should get rid of her.
“My au pair. She cleans and cooks. She’ll do great.”
“You’ll come.” Willow sprang to her feet, slapping the table. “Not your au pair, who Dad won’t tolerate. Say you understand, you narcissistic, selfish—”
“Okay, you brat. I’ll come. But don’t you ever run another guilt trip on me.”
“Thank you.” Willow disconnected the call, taking deep breaths to calm down. Her sister better go. She didn’t know what she’d do if Laurel didn’t keep her word, but Willow would think of something.
She handed Ken the phone.
“Good job, sweetheart. You cut it close but packed a lot in forty-two seconds.”
Smiling, she drifted toward the door. The aromatic smell of sugary delight was strongest in this part of the apartment, cutting through the stench of chemicals around Ken’s desk. Her stomach grumbled. She went back into the kitchen to see if there were any doughnuts left.
Her gaze flickered up to the television, catching a cutaway from an update on a tropical storm upgrading to a hurricane in the Atlantic to a breaking news headline. An aerial shot of a house on fire popped up. The neighborhood looked familiar. The bright green house next door to the on
e burning almost looked like Mr. Thompson’s but…
The horrifying realization solidified hard and cold as a rock in the pit of her stomach.
My house is on fire—with my father inside.
Willow staggered closer to the television and turned up the volume.
“An elderly man was found in the house,” the female reporter said. “He was rushed to Saint Margaret’s Hospital and is currently in a coma in intensive care. Authorities suspect arson and are looking to question the man’s daughter, Willow Harper.” Her picture came up on the television. “If anyone has seen this woman or knows her current whereabouts, they should contact authorities immediately.”
Her head spun like her brain was caught in a centrifuge. The room began to tilt, and she slumped into a chair.
Could smoke inhalation cause a coma? How did the fire even start? Did her dad have an accident trying to cook? He’d almost set a fire once at the stove, and afterward, she always made certain the freezer was stocked with food he only had to microwave.
Oh God. Daddy. She couldn’t leave town, not with her dad in a coma and her house burning down. She glanced at the screen.
A blazing inferno shot up the back of the house. Plumes of thick black smoke billowed into the air. The fire was destroying every single possession: her bedroom, computer, her carefully assembled wardrobe, her dad’s rare vinyl collection, stacks of photo albums—generations’ worth of memories. Her entire life was being rendered to ash.
Her mother had loved that house. Willow had been born there.
She shut her eyes, blocking out the sight and holding back tears.
What if her dad never woke up? What if he died and she never said goodbye?
Exhaling a shuddering breath, she lurched to her feet and groped her pearls. “I have to go to the hospital. I-I-I need a cab. Can you call a cab?”
“Whoa, sweetheart.” Ken rose, holding up both gloved hands. “I don’t think Gideon wants you to leave. He wanted you to stay here, to keep you safe.”
