by Mandy Baxter
Obligated. She thought he felt obligated? Did she have any clue how that came off? Obligated translated to responsible as far as he was concerned. As though he’d taken advantage of her somehow. He caught Crawford’s men from the corner of his eye watching their exchange with a little too much interest. Great. Now his life had been reduced to cheap, dramatic entertainment. “I don’t feel obligated.” His eyes narrowed with annoyance, and he sat up, crossing his arms across his chest. “I still have a job to do, Emma. And I’m going to do it.”
“Well, looks like you’ll be on your own from here on out, McCabe, because if you hadn’t noticed . . . I’m dead.”
Landon had no fucking clue what was going on or how the Special Operations Group had gotten involved in the Ruiz case, but he’d be damned if he let Crawford and his colleagues give him the runaround. He was starting to wish he hadn’t ditched his phone in the stairwell because this entire setup reeked of something dirty. He would have liked to at least touch base with Galen—you know, in case these SOG guys buried him in a shallow grave or some shit.
Because if SOG was involved, it wasn’t a stretch to think the FBI or CIA might be as well. And those central intelligence dudes were some scary motherfuckers.
He decided that trying to reason with Emma right now would get him nowhere. If they’d made it out of her building, Landon knew he could have convinced her to open up to him. But now she was locked down tight and no amount of arguing was going to convince her to come clean. Just one more thing for him to lay at Bill Crawford’s feet. Landon leaned back on the bench seat and rested his head on the rack behind him. A slow, measured breath released from his lungs as he closed his eyes and tried to center himself.
Emma had him tied into goddamned knots.
He needed a plan of attack. A course of action that he could implement once he had some idea of what kind of mess they’d wound up in. Chances were good that once they took them to wherever they were going, Landon would be debriefed—meaning they’d question the shit out of him and then reciprocate by giving him as much information as his pay grade allowed—and send him on his way. And if they thought for a second that he’d simply tuck tail and head home, deserting Emma, well, they had another fucking think coming.
The ambulance pulled into an underground parking garage at the University of Washington Medical Center. Smart. The city’s top hospital would undoubtedly have the best security. When the ambulance pulled to a stop, Bill Crawford was waiting outside the doors. Landon wondered if the dude realized he was giving off a sort of creepy vibe. Like Lurch from The Addams Family. He exchanged a few inaudible words with his colleagues and directed the paramedics as to where to take Emma. “Sorry, Miss Ruiz, but you’re dead,” he said as he covered her head with a white sheet. She stared upward as she was covered, displaying no outward show of emotion. Her seeming resignation burned in the pit of Landon’s gut. Surely she wasn’t beaten down so easily? Not the tough, snarky Emma Ruiz he knew.
“Follow me, Deputy McCabe,” Crawford said as the gurney was wheeled into the hospital.
“No fucking way am I leaving her unattended,” Landon snarled. “You’ve got a pair on you if you think—”
“You don’t get a choice,” Crawford interrupted as his team veered off to follow the paramedics and Emma. “As of now, you’re off this case, Deputy. And unless you want an armed escort to take you back to Portland, I suggest you play ball. Understand?”
Landon gnashed his teeth so hard he damned near ground his molars to dust. He was itching for a fight, and Crawford might be the bastard to give him one. “I think my office might have a thing or two to say about that. Fugitive recovery falls under our jurisdiction.”
Crawford let out a long-suffering sigh, as though dealing with Landon was one too many things for him to handle. Well, too damned bad. “Ruiz isn’t a fugitive, McCabe. He’s a hostage.”
I fucking knew it. “I think I know who has him.” That son of a bitch from the club. It had to be. Maybe Landon could use his knowledge to keep him on the case and by Emma’s side.
“We already know who it is,” Crawford replied.
Well, shit. That took the wind out of his sails. He might have been down, but he was far from out, though. Crawford headed inside the hospital and Landon followed, keeping pace as they walked to wherever Crawford was taking him. “How does Emma fit into this? At this point, I find it hard to believe that she orchestrated her own father’s kidnapping and is holding him hostage. Why not turn her over into our custody and let us put her into WITSEC until this is wrapped up?”
“Witness Security is off the table at this point. It’s not that simple.”
Crawford ushered him into an empty meeting room and shut the door. He motioned for Landon to take a seat and he leaned a hip against the table instead. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself,” Crawford replied with a shrug. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but the Ruiz case goes way above your pay grade, McCabe. I don’t have to supply you with shit. But,” he stressed as Landon opened his mouth to protest, “out of professional courtesy, I’ll tell you what I can.”
Well, wasn’t that courteous of him. What a crock. “All right, then. Tell me.”
Crawford leveled a laser-intense gaze on Landon before he said, “About eighteen months ago, one of our undercover agents was working a tip we’d received about an arms dealer who was funding the weapons end of his organization via human trafficking. We’ve been partnered up with Department of Homeland Security and the FBI on this case for almost a year and were getting close to making an arrest.”
“Does the dealer have a name?” Landon took a chance and asked even though he doubted Crawford would play ball.
He simply smiled. “From what we’ve been able to determine, he’s trying to get his hands on something big.”
“A dirty bomb?” Landon ventured.
Crawford nodded. “Nuclear and ready to be shipped to the highest bidder.”
A dull ache throbbed behind Landon’s eyes and he massaged his temples. The pain in his head was nothing compared to the spike of adrenaline dumping into his system as the weight of the situation came crashing down on him.
“And Emma? How does she fit into this?”
“Now that’s above your pay grade.”
Of course it was. Landon raked his fingers through his hair, the gears cranking in his mind as he tried to think of a way to get Emma out of this mess. “Why the cloak-and-dagger act, then? If she’s involved, and obviously valuable to you guys, why stage her death?”
“To be honest, we didn’t think you’d be quite so good at your job, McCabe.” The backhanded compliment was laughable, but Landon let it slide. “We figured you’d question Emma, but her alibi was airtight, so I didn’t think you’d stay on her for long. I guess I was wrong.”
Not merely wrong. Crawford was straight-up stupid. “Emma’s been working with your office all this time?” Landon waited for an answer, gauging Crawford’s reaction. Emma was just as surprised as he’d been when SOG showed up on the scene. No way was she that good of an actress.
“Unintentionally,” Crawford replied.
Anger surged in Landon’s chest and he pushed himself away from the table, going nose-to-nose with Crawford. “You mean you used her as bait?”
Crawford shrugged, and it was all Landon could do not to deck the son of a bitch. “This is a national security issue, McCabe. I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else. I’m getting the job done, and that’s all there is to it.”
“By risking the life of an innocent woman?” Landon all but shouted. “What the hell sort of crackerjack operation are you guys running, Crawford?”
Landon released a deep breath as he tried to calm the fuck down. Crawford wasn’t the enemy. They played for the same team, for Christ’s sake. Worked for the same damned agency. In any other situation, Landon would be nodding his head, agreeing with every single tactic Crawford or any other agency sought
to employ in order to take down their target and get the win. The animosity he felt toward the other man had nothing to do with proper procedure or even the way he conducted his operation. Rather, this had everything to do with Landon’s irrational need to protect Emma at all costs.
“What about Javier?” he asked. “How does Emma’s dad fit into all of this?”
“Again, McCabe. This is a national security matter and the details of this operation are classified. I’m telling you this much because I think you’re good at your job and you deserve to go back to Portland with some sort of explanation. I wish I could tell you more. But I can’t.”
Frustration pooled in his gut like acid. The feeling of helplessness threatened to drive his anger to a point he doubted he’d come back from. Professionally, anyway. One misstep and you could bet Crawford would have his badge. But Landon refused to simply abandon Emma and let the U.S. government continue to use her like some sort of expendable pawn.
“I’ll be on the phone with your chief deputy when I walk out of this room,” Crawford warned. “I suggest you don’t waste any time getting back to Portland. We appreciate your work on this case, but this is where your involvement ends.”
“So that’s it?” Landon asked as Crawford headed for the conference room door. A swath of light cut through the darkness as he pulled it open, casting a long, ominous shadow behind him. He understood working a case close to the hip, clearance levels, national security, and the need to keep secrets safe. But what Landon couldn’t get behind was the way they’d decided to use Emma to get what they wanted without her consent. “What if she cracks? She was barely keeping it together before any of this went down. What makes you think she’ll play ball?”
Crawford turned, his face partially hidden in shadows. “They have her father, McCabe. She’s been playing for quite a while now.”
The door closed with an echoing finality that made Landon’s gut clench. He’d spent years building his career into something he could be proud of, even at the expense of his family’s disapproval. Exhaustion won out as Landon slumped down on the table’s surface, his own indecision warring with common sense.
He should walk out that door. Right now. Take a cab to Emma’s apartment, get his car and his shit, and go home. Work a new case and move on.
Forget all of this.
Instead, Landon crossed the room to the far wall and picked up the landline. He accessed an open line and dialed.
“Hello?” Galen answered after a few rings.
“It’s me,” Landon said.
“Oh, hey,” Galen replied. “Where are you calling from? Making any headway up there?”
“I need a favor,” Landon said. “And no one, not even Monroe, can know about it.”
There was a long pause, and then Galen replied, his tone somber, “What do you need?”
Chapter Eleven
Emma waited in a room that she assumed was reserved for trauma patients. People in serious need of medical attention who might be teetering on the precipice of death. It didn’t sit well with her that she was occupying a space that someone might need. That the tools and machinery surrounding her could save someone’s life, and instead they sat there, useless, nothing more than a bunch of props to help perpetuate the story that she’d died from a gunshot wound earlier in the night.
Outside the door, Bill Crawford’s men stood guard like a couple of gargoyles, showing no outward sign of movement. Emma couldn’t help but wonder if her appointed sentries were there to keep curious onlookers out, or to keep her in. Either way, a spasm of nervous energy skittered through her veins as she tried to control the frantic beat of her heart.
Because she had a feeling that these SOG guys were totally off sides.
Running their offense ahead of the allowable defense, they’d managed to tip the scales in their favor by orchestrating her fake death. And the fact that they’d stepped in and walked all over McCabe as though he were no more important than a second-stringer on the sidelines told her that not only did these guys mean business, but they knew what she was up to as well.
Crap.
As she waited for Crawford to show up and work his intimidating secret-government-guy mojo on her, Emma craned her neck toward the door hoping to spot some sign of McCabe. She had to admit that she felt a lot better when he was around. Safer. Even when she had been a rash, impulsive teenager and she’d known he was the enemy, she’d felt safer when he was in the room. As though he’d never let anything bad happen to her. It was totally lame and childish, she knew. But right now, she felt as helpless and afraid as she had when she was that eighteen-year-old girl watching as her father was handcuffed and taken to prison.
Once again, she was alone.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Ruiz.”
Bill Crawford strolled into the room with all of the confidence of a man in his position. If she’d learned anything over the years, it was that when you gave some people an inch, they took a mile, and that went for power plays, too. If she let Crawford think he was running the show, he’d steamroll her. The only option at this point was to beat him at his own game.
It was still too soon to know what the SOG’s intentions were. And even though, deep down, Emma knew they were the good guys, there was still that part of her that harbored a deep mistrust of anyone in law enforcement. The marshals had helped put her father away without batting a single lash, so sure he’d been guilty. Hadn’t any of them seen past those ridiculous accusations and realized that they were prosecuting an honorable, decent man?
How could she possibly trust any of them?
“I know my rights and I want to contact my lawyer. I’m not going to say a word to you or any of your people until I have legal counsel present.”
Crawford chuckled, making it clear how entertaining he found her request. “As it pertains to issues of national security, I’m afraid you have no rights, Emma.”
National security? What in the hell was he talking about? “Look, buddy, I’ve been through this before and you feds are all alike. You think you can push me around, threaten me, scare me into cooperating. It’s not gonna happen. Not without my lawyer present.”
Crawford gave her a cold, emotionless smile that seemed to bring the air temperature down twenty or so degrees. “As of this moment, I have more than enough evidence to slap you in a prison so far away and so secret, I’ll have no problem convincing people that you’re dead. The fact of the matter is, you’re in way over your head here, and unless you cooperate, Teyo Sousa won’t hesitate to instruct Cesar Molina to kill your father.”
If there was one thing her dad had drilled into her head, it was that rash decisions and hasty words didn’t do anyone a bit of good. By dropping two tiny names, Crawford had shown her that he knew way more about her situation than she’d thought. She needed to move forward cautiously. After all, he’d said he could help save her dad. That wasn’t an offer she could discount quite yet.
“You wouldn’t be trying to leverage me if you didn’t need something from me. And it’s totally shitty of you to hold prison and my dad’s life over my head in exchange for what you want.”
“In the course of trying to exonerate your father, you managed to stir up a hornet’s nest, Emma. So you can think this is as shitty as you want, but you’re in this situation by your own doing. Believe me when I tell you that Teyo Sousa isn’t someone you’re equipped to tangle with. If you go this alone, you and your father will be dead. No pretending. I’m offering you an end to this once and for all: your father’s life for your cooperation. I’d think the decision would be an easy one for you to make.”
Emma’s mouth went dry. Her pulse jacked up as her heart threatened to break out of her chest. All she wanted was to clear her dad’s name and take care of him while he was sick. Nothing was happening the way she’d planned it to. She wanted to trust Crawford. But... “I want to see Landon McCabe.”
Crawford’s expression soured. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Emma. Deputy McCab
e is no longer working this case. I doubt he’s even still in the building.”
By getting rid of McCabe, Crawford had managed to cut Emma off from any possible support system. She struggled for a deep breath, but found that there wasn’t enough oxygen to fill her lungs. “Well, that’s too bad for you, then.” She infused her voice with every ounce of strength in her reserves. She didn’t know if she could trust the SOG bigwig, but she was starting to believe that she could put her trust in McCabe. She’d been going it alone for so long that the prospect of having a little help gave Emma hope that she might get her dad out of this situation after all. She didn’t want to be alone, not anymore, and Crawford needed to know she wasn’t going to let him make an island out of her again. “Because I’m not saying another word until you find him.”
Emma leveled her gaze on Crawford and stared him down. She clamped her jaw down tight for good measure to drive home her point. A few moments passed, a battle of wills that was laughable when Emma considered her situation. The sound of Crawford’s phone sliced through the quiet, effectively ending their standoff. With a curse under his breath, he pulled his cell from his jacket pocket and answered with a curt, “Crawford.”
As he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call, his gaze landed on Emma and he shot her a glare that should have killed her right where she sat. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he growled into the receiver. Without a parting word, he spun on his heel, phone still glued to his ear, and stomped out of the room.
Despite the interruption, Emma considered herself the winner of round one.
Landon waited in the dark conference room, laid back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table. When he heard the door open behind him, he let his eyes drift shut, a pleasant, albeit triumphant smile playing on his lips. Sometimes, having influential friends paid off, and though he’d owe Galen for the rest of his damned life, it was totally worth calling in the favor.
