by Fiona Quinn
“I think all roads will lead through Inge Prokhorov,” Rowan said, his heel tapping nervously. “Do you have a family tree? How does she fit in with Sergei?”
“First cousins,” Margot said. “Sergei’s mother is Inge’s aunt. Was. Sergei’s mother is deceased.”
“Are you following that thread?” he asked.
“Roger that,” Margot said.
Suddenly, monitors went black except for the glow of the computer Avery was working on.
“What the heck?” Nutsbe leaned forward.
“Rowan? Rowan, what’s happening?” Avery’s whisper sounded panicked. “Rowan, the lights went out.”
“Honey,” Nutsbe said.
“I’m on it.”
“Take comms.”
Honey pulled a plastic box from a cargo pocket on his pants, and put his ear pieces in place. “Testing. Testing. Testing.”
“Good copy, Honey.”
“We’re seeing this,” Margot said. “I’m checking now for closest available operators to respond to your location. Just in case.”
“Copy,” Nutsbe said.
“I’m going.”
Nutsbe reached around to a drawer and pulled out a comms packet. “Tonight, you’ll be ‘Foxtrot,’ Kennedy.” He spun to the wall and pulled down two helmets with night vision. “We own the night.”
“Foxtrot. Roger that.” Rowan geared up.
After slipping his comms into his ears and doing a sound check, Honey handed him body armor and a rifle.
“What the heck is this?” Rowan asked, looking the weapon over.
“Stun rifle,” Honey said. “Use it if you can. If you can’t, I’m assuming you came strapped.”
“Always,” Rowan growled, jumping out the back of the van. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he pulled his night vision into place, and took off running. “Move!”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Rowan
Monday night
Warrenton, Virginia
The crash was followed by glass shattering and a high-pitched scream of terror through their comms.
“Nutsbe. What have you got?” Honey’s voice was combat steady.
Find the fire, put the fire out.
It was what Rowan had lived throughout his years in special forces. But he was not prepared to tamp down the kind of feral savagery that expanded through his system. He wanted to rip any hostiles apart. How dare they endanger Avery.
“Avery’s got the computer. It’s the only source of light. Not sure if I want her to drop it or keep it on so I can see. Okay, she’s put it on the chair and stepped back from it.”
“Want to call her cell?”
“I have it ringing. But she’s got it set to vibrate. She’s probably got tunnel vision, so all thought processes are out the window. She’s scanning, trying to figure which way to go.”
Another shrill scream.
“Nutsbe. I’ve got shadows. Two, maybe three.”
“Honey. What’s that crashing?”
“Avery’s throwing shit at the shadows,” Nutsbe said. “We have a 911 call going out to the Warrenton P.D. from the house. She’s not giving her name. It must be Taylor.
“Panther Five.” Came Margot’s voice. “I’m hearing a ten minute police ETA on the scanner. You need to jump on that before the police go running in guns ablazing.”
“Honey. Copy.”
“Panther Five. I’ll let PD know there’s an FBI special agent on site.”
Honey lowered his voice. “Honey. Command, be advised we have two hostiles at the front door. They have weapons brandished. We’re going to dispatch them.”
“Nutsbe. Copy.”
“We need to clear this silently,” Honey whispered. “Choose your guy.”
“I’ve got right.”
“Zip ties in your front right pouch. I’m thinking we just give them a hug and let them go night-night.” They stood in a copse of young trees just before the yard opened up. Honey had his mouth up to Rowan’s ear. “We don’t want to get their buddies excited. We’ll clear this one hostile at a time.”
Rowan moved his gun from his ankle holster to the chest holster, ready to grab and shoot if need be.
“Nutsbe. Two hostiles have hands on Avery. One on either side. She’s struggling with them.”
“Honey. Moving.”
On silent feet, Rowan and Honey slipped forward. The men on guard had their backs to the road and were focused on the windows. Poor training or maybe they got cocky because they assumed that they’d be alone, getting the drop on the farm house.
Which made this next move easy.
Honey held up count down fingers—three, two, one. They pounced.
Rowan got an elbow around the hostile’s neck and clamped down tight before he could make any noise. He walked backwards as he tightened down on the guy’s carotid so he couldn’t use his legs to manipulate himself out of Rowan’s grip.
The hostile slapped at Rowan’s arm and tried to keep his feet under him. But Rowan had done this a thousand times before. This was second nature to him.
Once the guy passed out, Rowan spun him onto his stomach, zip-tied his hands and feet, then left him there in the tall grass to jog over to Honey.
“Honey. Front clear. Door’s locked. We’re going to make our way around the back and see if they have any other sentries.”
“Nutsbe. Third guy in the room with Avery. Be advised, he has a high lumen flashlight that he’s shining in her eyes. She’s going to be blinded when you enter. And you’ll want to watch your night vision.”
“Honey. Copy.”
“Foxtrot. What are they saying to her? Who are we dealing with?”
“Nutsbe. He’s asking her where her husband is. She said she’s not married. She thinks he has the wrong house. She might have sputtered when the breech first happened, she’s firing on all cylinders now. They’re spouting some shit about saving the POTUS.”
Through the window Rowan heard the man yell, “Do you think I’m going to let a crazy jihadist come into my country and put their scope on my president?”
“Nutsbe. We can hear him now. I don’t know if that’s drugs or just crazy.”
Rowan reached his hand in front of Honey with two fingers up then pointed into the tree line.
Honey used hand signals to tell Rowan to circle to the man on the right, he’d take the guy on the left.
As long as the guy was just yelling it was better to take down the crew outside. Rowan slipped along the shadow of the house and into the woods. He came around behind the guy and was reaching out his arm when his boot caught a stick and it snapped loudly.
The hostile spun around to see what was behind him.
Rowan yanked the gun from his chest holster and bashed the tango across the temple. The guy dropped like a sack.
“Hey, you okay?” a tango called over.
Then the grunts.
Honey had him.
Rowan could focus on getting this hostile trussed.
“Honey. Two hostiles disabled.”
“Nutsbe. Copy. The PD have called up a SWAT team, and they’ve been directed to gather two klicks from the farm house at a convenience store. They estimate their roll-up to be twenty minutes. They sound pretty excited about the possibilities of getting to play tonight. I’d make sure this is taken care of well before then.”
Honey and Rowan were up at the house, looking in the window of the room where Avery had been sitting. The computer was on the ground in the corner and the man’s flashlight shone in Avery’s face.
There were four figures in the room. Not three. One stood back by the door. Arms behind his back.
Rowan tapped four fingers on his arm to indicate the Patriots Pledge patch on their jackets and make sure Honey saw the unexpected player.
Honey gave him the thumbs up.
The two slid under the window panes and hunkered down to plan a course of action.
“I say we just walk in with the stun rifles,” Honey whispered. “Hit
the two touching Avery. The noise and lights will be unexpected. We’ll grab Avery and get her to safety. Take the others down. You can take them into FBI custody. And Taylor Knapp. We need to scoop her up in this too.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Honey. You get that Nutsbe?”
“Nutsbe. Copy Lima Charlie.”
As the two rose, there was a scream.
“Nutsbe. Abort. Abort. Abort. Fourth guy just shoved a gun in Avery’s face. He’s up in Avery’s grill and sweating. He’s got poor trigger control. No surprises.”
“Honey. Copy.”
They stepped away. Rowan was frantic. This was what he did, day-in and day-out, for years on end. And even if you had experience and skill under your belt, brains and bodies did crazy things. Counter intuitive things.
He just needed Avery to remember that they were there.
They knew what was happening.
They were coming.
“Okay,” Honey said. “Danger level just escalated. They must have gone in the back door. You slip into the back hall. I’ll watch from the window, the moment he drops the barrel, I’ll signal over comms. You throw flash bang. I’ll break the window and throw mine. Let’s see if we can’t get them out of there without shots fired.” He reached over and pulled a canister from Rowen’s vest and handed it to him. “That should put them on the ground. I’ll get the weapons, while you get Avery out of there.”
“Got it,” Rowan said.
“Honey. Nutsbe, how about you start sneaking the van up the road and get yourself behind the trees. As soon as Avery’s out of there, I’ll secure the last four tangoes, then I’m going after Taylor to bring her with us. We’ll rally at the van. We’ll exfil with Plan B.”
“Nutsbe. Copy.”
Rowan skulked to the back porch, making his way to the door.
Tucked low, he reached for the handle and pushed the door wide enough to move in, his head on a swivel looking for any other Patriots Pledge idiots who wanted to play war games.
He’d gladly take them down.
Rowan was depending on his training because every fiber of his being yearned to race into the room where Avery was being held and eliminate the threats. Doing so would put her in terrible danger. Honey must know that would be Rowan’s instinct, and that’s why he was sent to the back rather than be the man with his gun against the windowpane and a tango lined up in his sights.
Rowan pulled up his memory of the house schematic. He rounded out of the kitchen and side stepped down the hall, then crossed over once he got to the door to the den. “Foxtrot in place,” he said under his breath while the tango in the room yelled about how he’d never let a jihadist wage war in America.
“I don’t even know what to tell you,” Avery said. “Since I’m not married. And I don’t have a sister-wife to hand over to you. I’m not sure what to do to help you.”
“Help me! Help me? What do you think would help me? Do you want to convert me?”
“Uhm. Roman Catholics don’t really do a lot of converting. I guess I could say a rosary with you.” Avery’s voice sounded very small.
Rowan hated every nanosecond of this shit.
“Shut up! Shut up! Tell me what the plan is. If you don’t tell me right now how your husband plans to kill the president, I’ll have to torture the truth out of you. Do you want me to have to do that?”
“Are you crazy?” Avery yelled.
Rowan swung around so he had as much of the room in his field of vision as possible. A tango shifted his weight and hit a table, a vase crashed to the ground. The tango who had a gun on Avery slid his head in that direction and his finger curled reflexively on the trigger.
BANG!
The shot rang out.
“Now.” Honey’s voice in Rowan’s ear had not even finished the sound when the flashbang left Rowan’s fingertips. He covered his ears and hunkered against the wall, protecting his eyes.
The explosion was followed by the crash of glass breaking and the flashbang that Honey threw into the mix.
Rowan twisted and ran into the room. Avery was in the fetal position on the ground. The guy in front of her was reaching out patting the ground for his gun. Rowan shot him with the stun rifle. His unholy scream filled the room.
Rowan focused on the man on the ground who lay still. Blood pooled beneath him, shot by his own guy. Rowan grabbed up the shooter’s gun and shoved it into his belt against his back. Crouching, he rolled Avery into his arms. At first, she flung out not knowing who had her. She’d be blind and deaf for a while yet. But as he rolled her to his chest, even in her survival-mode, she must have realized it was him. He lifted up from his squat and ran out of the smoke to get Avery to fresh air.
He didn’t stop running until he was at the back of the van.
“Nutsbe. Precious cargo secured, and is receiving first-aid,” he announced, moving away from the opened van door, giving Rowan room to set Avery down. He handed Rowan an oxygen mask and a bottle of water to minister Avery, then turned back to his bank of video feeds.
“Foxtrot. Honey do you need me?”
“Honey. Negative. Four hostiles secured. I’m going after Taylor.”
“Panther Five. She told 911 she’s unarmed and in the guest bathroom closet. But still, exercise caution.”
“Honey. Copy. Wilco.”
Rowan cradled Avery in his arms as he flushed her face and held the air mask.
“They’re crazy,” Avery said. “Those are the people that jumped you on your run, aren’t they?”
The sirens from SWAT sounded.
Nutsbe picked up the radio. “Nutsbe. Panther Five, advise the good men and women in blue that we have an agent securing the scene, and he’s still inside.”
“Panther Five. Good copy. Wilco.”
“Same guys,” Rowan told her.
“And they really believed that someone was after the president. This is crazy. Taylor was in there. Is Honey getting her?”
“He’ll get her out.”
“And what will you do with her?”
“I’m going to put her under arrest. After what you’ve told us, I think we have a pretty clear picture of her conspiring to incite hate crimes.”
Avery lay in his lap, pushing away the air mask. “She’ll be in jail. That’s going to make a lot of people angry.”
“If they find out about it, yes it will. What will end up happening is that she’ll turn State’s witness to stay out of jail. We’ll be able to use her to help us understand who and what’s involved here, so the good guys can round up everyone who’s dead set on destabilizing America.”
“Are they going to come after me again?”
“We’ll protect you. I’m sorry this happened, Avery. I had no idea that this might have been dangerous.”
“Taylor must have told them that I was going to be here and what time I’d arrive. It was too convenient, too precise for that not to be the case. If the guys were told how to get to you before, on your run, by a charismatic, then that means that the charismatic must be connected to Taylor somehow. The charismatic must have told them to come here after me. And Taylor must have known too.”
“Why do you say that?” Nutsbe asked.
“Because she knew what time I was coming. She settled me with the chapters and went to take a bath. Who does that when a business person comes for a meeting? No one. It’s crazy. I was sitting there trying to figure out why she removed herself from the room when the lights went off.”
“Your mind, Avery, is astonishing. You should be writing not editing,” Rowan said.
She lifted herself up and kissed Rowan on the lips, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sheer bliss of having her safe.
He leaned his forehead against hers and blew out a heavy breath. “When Nutsbe said you had a gun to your face, that’s the worst thing I’ve experienced in my life.” He lifted up to look her in the eye.
“It was pretty scary, I have to admit. My ears are still ringing. I can barely hear you.
That’s pretty nauseating…that flashbang stuff. ” Rowan handed her a water bottle and Avery took a sip.
“Yeah. I need you to consider a safer job,” Rowan said. “I don’t know if I can go through my day, thinking you’re putting yourself in dangerous situations like this.”
“Oh now stop. You told me you shook hands for a living and didn’t throw flashbang.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He gathered her tight to his chest and squeezed.
“Air!” she gasped to make him let go.
“Honey. The PD have taken custody. They need each of us to give them statements. We have permission to go to the hotel and get cleaned up before we do that. Avery, those were trying circumstances. You did great.”
“Thank you,” Avery called into the air for Honey to hear.
“Honey. Foxtrot, I pulled Avery’s car to the side of the road. I put her phone and keys in the front seat. Nutsbe and I will meet you back at the hotel. We’ll wait here for FBI transport to come pick Taylor up. I’m going to hold her here in the house until you pull away with Avery.”
“Foxtrot. Copy.”
Avery scooted to the ground. She reached out her hand and laced her fingers with Rowan’s. Together, they walked toward her car.
“I’m imaging, Avery Goodyear,” Rowan released her hand to wrap his arm around her and tuck her tight, “that life together with you is going to be full of excitement.”
“A whole life, huh?”
“At the FBI, we’re taught to speak in an individual’s vernacular.” He dropped a kiss into her hair. “When I write, I’m a planter. I have a trajectory for the story, and I know the ending. But I like the story to naturally unfold and surprise me.”
“Ah, and what kind of story is this? You usually write thrillers.”
“Not this time. This is a straight-up romance.”
“You know I’m a romance editor.” They stood beside her car, his arms wrapping her tightly, her cheek resting against his chest. “There are certain elements that are absolutely necessary to writing a romance. There can be no wiggle room.”
“Yeah? Like what.”
