Deadly Force

by Misty Evans

“You’re at the house?” He chuckled. “I told you you’d need my help some day.”

  “I’m in deep shit here, Emit. The guy after Bianca is Rory Tephra.”

  A pause. “You’re losing it, man. Tephra’s MIA, probably dead.”

  “Something is fishy about this whole thing. I don’t know who or what to believe, and after what happened in Afghanistan, I don’t have many friends.”

  “Sit tight. I’ll have an extraction team at the house in forty-five minutes, maybe less. They’ll take you to ground and I’ll hop on a plane and get back there as fast as possible. We’ll figure this out.”

  Forty-five minutes. Cal bent his knees and put his back against the closet door. “And if the assassin shows up before then?”

  “Get Bianca out and we’ll regroup on the fly. There’s a go bag under the floor where you found the phone. Disposable cell phones, two handguns, and some other security hardware that will come in handy. Call me from the road and I’ll have the extraction team meet you wherever you are.”

  It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. “I need wheels.”

  “South end of the street in the big yellow A-frame is a guy named Means. Fighter pilot who works for me freelance on occasion. Tell him I sent you. He’ll find you something.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money on me.”

  “There’s cash in the bag, but you won’t need it. Means will fix you up and charge it to me. Trust me, buddy. I got your back.”

  Cal hung his head between his bent knees for a moment and breathed a heavy sigh. “Thanks, Emit. I owe you.”

  “You rescued my sister. This is the least I can do.” He let that sink in, then said, “Stay safe. I’ll see you in approximately ten hours.”

  The line went dead. Cal replaced the phone and drew out the go bag. Exactly like Emit had said, there were phones, guns, and cash.

  Cal replaced the floorboard and carpet, took the bag, and headed downstairs, the smell of something warm and familiar filling his nose. The scent reminded him of his stepmother’s kitchen, where something had always been cooking. His mouth watered.

  He stashed the bag under a couch cushion in the living room, deciding it would be easier to tell Bianca about the extraction team and his plan after he’d eaten.

  Bianca stood at the stove, humming, a spatula in one hand, the other on her hip. She was barefoot and had tied an apron around her waist. It emphasized her curvy bottom and Cal’s mouth watered for a different reason.

  He hadn’t eaten all day, hadn’t been hungry until now.

  He wanted to slip up behind her and wrap his arms around her, nuzzle her neck, like he used to do when they were newlyweds. She’d always been a fairly good cook, not as good as his stepmom, but almost. Delene had come into Cal’s life at thirteen—a hard age to accept a new mother. Delene had been good to Bianca though, and she’d spent hours teaching Bianca all her recipes. Cal had grown to love and respect his stepmom because of how much Bianca loved her.

  Bianca now glanced over her shoulder at him. “Hey, I made pancakes. They’re not great since I didn’t have milk or eggs, but I did find butter that hadn’t expired, the real stuff, and threw a couple tablespoons of that in with a dash of vanilla.”

  She used the spatula to pile a couple on a plate and set the plate on the breakfast bar. Maggie stood sentry nearby, wagging her tail at every move Bianca made, patiently waiting for her own pancake.

  This was how it should have been with them. Easy. Normal. A big, fancy house, a couple of kids, a dog. What the hell happened to us?

  Bianca glanced at him. “Cal?”

  “Yeah.” He sat in one of the chairs, grabbed the syrup she’d set out and drowned the pancakes in it. As he dug in, the first bite of maple, vanilla, and butter exploding in his mouth, Bianca returned to the stove, her back to him once more.

  Regardless of the lack of ingredients, the pancakes were delicious. He watched as she poured more batter, cocked her hip to the side, and rested her right foot against her left ankle. Her purple toenails were dark against her fair skin. Strands of hair had, as per normal, escaped her ponytail and hung down the back of her neck. She’d removed the sweatshirt but still wore his T-shirt, the bottom edge of it drifting just under her butt cheeks.

  She flipped the cakes in the skillet, turned to look at him. “What’s the verdict?”

  “They’re delicious,” he said around a mouthful.

  The right side of her mouth quirked slightly and she turned back around.

  “Bianca?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why is someone trying to kill you?”

  She glanced at him, this time with a look that said she thought he was dense. “Because I know Senator Halston leaked the information about your mission. It’s his fault the mission was a failure and three Navy SEALs died.”

  “Has to be more to it than that.”

  Her brows dipped and she tapped her finger against the handle of the skillet. “At first, I thought so, too, but what? I mean, I know a lot of highly-classified information, super-secret stuff, but so does my boss. Doesn’t mean we should be targets for an assassin.”

  Assassin. The word set him on edge. “What about the other blue elephant? You said she died in a car accident six months ago. You don’t think it was an accident, do you?”

  “She didn’t have anything to do with Grimes or the Middle East sector. She worked the Korean and South American sectors. I couldn’t find any correlation.”

  She turned back and began flipping pancakes. “On the other hand, I may be the only person outside of Halston and the man who called him who knows about this. If someone wants to cover up Halston’s epic fail, I’m easily expendable.”

  “You’re sure this doesn’t have something to do with the taskforce?”

  “The taskforce?”

  “Your group investigates gunrunners and drug smugglers, right? Criminals who hold grudges and have no qualms taking people out?”

  She turned down the burner. “I’m not an undercover agent, Cal. I gather information and analyze it for the taskforce, that’s all. None of the criminals we investigate have a clue who I am or that I work for the SCVC.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Positive.” She checked for doneness, then flipped two pancakes onto another plate. “You ready for more?”

  He was. “You going to eat any?”

  She refilled his stack. “There’s plenty.”

  He forked another bite into his mouth and chewed as his brain worked over the problem. A contented silence threatened to make him forget what a screwed-up situation this was. “You’re sure this is related to Halston and my mission?”

  Finished with the last batch, she made a plate for herself and came to sit beside him. Her bare arm grazed his and her knee bumped into his thigh as she wiggled into place on the adjacent barstool. The homey smell of a decent breakfast mixed with her familiar scent.

  Close. Too close. After all these months, it was hell being this close to her and not being able to touch her the way he wanted to.

  Clearing the sudden tightness in his throat, he slid the syrup in front of her and hauled ass to the cabinets to find a glass and fill it with water.

  He chugged it, set the glass down and turned back to her.

  She was drowning her stack with syrup. “This is the real stuff. I haven’t had real maple syrup since that trip we took to Vermont. Remember that?”

  Vermont. One of their few vacations together. He’d wanted to stay in a fancy hotel. She’d insisted on a tiny bed and breakfast nestled at the base of a mountain. The views had been gorgeous, especially the view of her naked in the big, king size bed while he fed her pancakes soaked in world-class syrup. “B, focus. Are you sure?”

  A soft sigh issued from her lips. “Give me a minute to enjoy my food. I’ve done nothing but think about this since I heard that phone call. I’ve gone over every scenario, every angle, every possibility.” As she chewed and swallowed the first bite, she glanc
ed up and looked him in the eyes. “I’ve analyzed every angle. This is about Operation Warfighter and Senator Halston. I’m sure.”

  Cal returned to his seat, knowing it was a bad idea to get that close to her again. His stomach was pleasantly full. No one was shooting at them. The extraction team was on its way. Everything about her reminded him of home.

  A drop of syrup was stuck on her bottom lip. Cal wanted to lean over and lick it off. Instead he gripped his water glass tighter and gave himself the same advice he’d given her. Focus.

  She used her fork to cut another bite off her stack and stared at the layers for a second. “So what do we do now?”

  Sit tight, Emit had said, but once Cal was sure Bianca was safe, he was going to the source of her information. “Where’s Halston?”

  She gave him a quizzical look. “He’s stumping for the president here in California. The last big push before the election.”

  “Where exactly? Do you know?”

  “Today was San Francisco. Tomorrow, Sacramento. Ten wineries are hosting him on a wine tasting tour.”

  Senator Halston was going on with life while Cal’s men—his friends—were dead and buried.

  The breakfast he’d just enjoyed turned sour in his stomach. Rising from the stool, he fought the demons always riding his back these days and headed for the living room to clear his head.

  “Cal?” Bianca called.

  He stopped but kept his eyes glued to the fireplace.

  “You never answered me,” she said. “What do we do now?”

  “Sit tight.” He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and forced himself to answer. “I’m going to get us some wheels.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bianca felt like a snoop.

  The upstairs nursery was decorated in blue. Crayon-bright letters on the far wall spelled out Austin over the crib. Cal had left, telling Bianca to clean up and pack some food. They’d be taking a road trip to Sacramento, a long drive and they wouldn’t be making pit stops. He’d left to find them transportation.

  He was hiding something from her. Not the usual secrets they kept from each other. No, this was something else.

  But she hadn’t pushed him about it before he snuck out, instead hustling through the shower. She hated the idea of using a stranger’s soap and shampoo and leaving her used washcloth and towel behind, but knowing it might be a long time before she had access to her own bathroom again or any bathroom with a shower even, she’d done it anyway.

  Cal had once again handed her the Glock before he’d left and she’d kept it in easy reach. At that moment, it was secured in the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. A terrible place for a gun, it was, however, the best place she had outside of her hand.

  Maggie lay in the hallway fast asleep. My own personal security system. With the dog so relaxed, Bianca relaxed a bit too.

  Her feet took her from her voyeuristic stance in the hallway across the threshold of the room. She hadn’t meant to stop—she still needed to find some food and a cooler for the road trip—but the nursery had caught her eye and she couldn’t help pausing to look at the cheerful colors, rocking chair in the corner, and scattered toys.

  A white dresser held a table lamp with a train stitched on its shade. A silver picture frame with a photo of a baby dressed in a shirt with the Dodgers’ logo on the breast sat next to it. Her fingers brushed over the child’s face in the photo. So small and innocent.

  The ache of loss cut through her belly like a white-hot knife. Tears pressed into the corners of her eyes. She blinked and fought against the compression suddenly around her chest.

  Two babies, lost.

  One boy.

  One girl.

  Unlike Emit’s wife, neither of Bianca’s pregnancies had made it full term, and even after all this time, the grief and the guilt lit her up daily.

  Prom their senior year of high school, Cal had gotten her pregnant. She was such a cliché. Her life had spun into chaos after that.

  Her mother had killed herself, and Bianca had spent a good deal of time finishing her senior year while proving to the judge and social services that she’d been supporting herself and her mother for years.

  And six weeks after prom, that perfect night, Cal’s dreams of going to college on a swim scholarship had gone up in flames as Bianca broke the news to him that she was pregnant. He gave up all of his extra-curriculars and got an after-school job.

  A few weeks after that, she miscarried. For once in her life, her emotions took control and she managed to ruin the only good relationship she’d ever had, pushing Cal away the night before graduation. He’d been hurting, too, but she could barely handle her own pain and depression.

  Worse, she’d felt relief. Like many teenage girls, she hadn’t been ready for the responsibilities of a baby. She lay awake every night fearing she’d turn out like her mother, neglecting, or worse, abusing her own child. She’d also felt relief over the fact her mother was gone.

  But the relief had been drowned out by guilt. Cal had wanted to get married anyway, but she’d refused, fighting with him on purpose to make sure he left and never looked back. He deserved better. Deserved someone who was better.

  A vicious cycle that had nearly wiped out any hope for a future, because when Cal did leave and sign up for the Navy, the abject loneliness his absence created nearly buried her.

  Eight years later, things were different. She and Cal were married and had put the worst behind them. They were older, wiser, and ready for a family.

  Or so she thought.

  Tears threatened again and she blinked them away. In the past few hours, she’d been on the verge of tears multiple times. What was happening to her?

  In the next room, the phone rang, making her jump. Stop daydreaming. Go get some food packed.

  Emotions once more in check, she fled the nursery and went downstairs. Maggie woke and followed. The phone continued to blare. Who had a landline these days? Especially at a vacation home they probably only visited a few times a year?

  In the kitchen, Bianca ignored the ringing and found some fabric grocery bags. The phone stopped, the answering machine kicking in.

  She was filling a bag with unopened boxes of crackers when the answering machine’s message stopped and the beep sounded. Silence followed, then the distinct click of the call disconnecting.

  Bianca stared at the kitchen’s extension mounted on the wall. Telemarketer? Wrong number? Odds were one or the other.

  So why did she suddenly feel like someone had invaded the house?

  Bianca fingered the gun at her back and glanced at Maggie. The dog sat watching her, no sign she shared any concerns over the phone call. Bianca crept to the side of the window over the sink and cautiously peaked out. The landscaped front of the house, a narrow street, and double-wide driveway met her eyes. The street was lined with houses and what appeared to be a five-story condominium unit.

  A woman was walking a dog on the nearby bike path. Two houses down, someone was getting a furniture delivery.

  No Cal, but nothing suspicious, either.

  Where had he gone? He couldn’t buy or rent a car without leaving a trail, and Bianca knew that was the last thing he’d do.

  As a Navy SEAL, he had extensive training in the art of evading the enemy. He’d led his team into a myriad of foreign countries, taking out terrorists, rescuing Americans, and keeping the peace in a world bent on war. A real live hero who never wanted glory, only justice.

  Few Americans knew about his successes or the long list of threats Cal and his platoon had disposed of. But Bianca knew. It was one of the only reasons she slept soundly at night…knowing Cal was out there protecting her and the United States. Even without their extensive history, she would have considered him one of the few men in the whole world who could help her. With their history, she knew he was the only man she wanted to help her.

  Shrugging off her nerves, she moved back into the main area of the kitchen, locating a pantry behind a fal
se cabinet face. The shelves were stocked with a large assortment of nonperishables, mostly kid-friendly foods. Cookies, graham crackers, and cans of Chef Boyardee. She smiled, wondering if the canned pasta meals were for Emit’s children or him. He’d practically lived on raviolis for years.

  Cans were out; they were too heavy. The shelf to her left held boxes of prepackaged cupcakes and crème-filled goodies. There were two boxes of Pop-tarts. All the expiration dates were in a few weeks, and since there was no telling when Emit and his family were coming back—and she never could waste a good chocolate cupcake or box of Pop-tarts—she packed several of the boxes into a separate bag.

  Water was next. The pantry had cases of bottled water next to stacks of soda and sports drinks. On the floor in the corner was a white Styrofoam cooler. Bianca put a dozen bottles of water into it.

  Heavy, but water was essential.

  The ice maker in the freezer had been shut off, so there was no ice for the cooler. There were several cold packs, so she took those and put them in with the bottles.

  Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, where she’d left it, with an incoming text. The touch screen showed a message from a number she didn’t recognize.

  It also showed she’d missed two calls and three texts. Cooper, Ronni, and the taskforce’s tech guru, Bobby Dyer, had tried to contact her. On top of that, the FBI director that headed the taskforce, Director Dupé had also called. She was definitely in deep shit.

  Need to contact them. Let them know I’m all right before they put out an All-Points Bulletin.

  But she wasn’t all right. And Cal had said she wasn’t to contact anyone for any reason.

  There was one outlier. A number she didn’t recognize that had left a text. She twirled the phone on the counter for a moment, watching the sparkly purple case as it caught the late-morning light. “What do you think, Maggie?” she asked the dog. “Should I read it?”

  Maggie perked her ears and gave a short bark. Good enough.

  Bianca opened the text. Be ready to move in fifteen. C.

  Cal. He didn’t have a cell phone but must have scored a disposable one.