Hidden Prey

by Cheyenne McCray

  Dylan leaned against the house and held his weapon down in a two-handed grip. “Your informant better be right.”

  “Carl’s reliable.” Landon watched other DHS agents move into position. “Usually.”

  Dylan grimaced at Landon. “It’s the ‘usually’ part I don’t like.”

  Gripping his Colt .45, Landon silently moved to the opposite side of the door to stand on one side while Dylan took the other. Dylan, like the other agents, wore body armor. Dylan and Landon each had a tactical holster strapped to their thighs.

  Four other agents waited with Landon and Dylan by the door. With each agent in place, Landon peeked through the window and saw John Graves. Landon’s lips tightened into a thin line and he nodded at Dylan.

  Landon reared back and jammed his foot against the door. The locking mechanisms were inferior and the door broke free and swung open, hitting the wall with a crash.

  “Police!” Landon shouted.

  In the same instant, he swept his gaze over the scene and saw three men in the front room, all holding weapons. The men whirled to face the door as it crashed open. Landon got off two shots then ducked back behind the doorframe.

  One of the men gave a grunt of pain right before the shooting started.

  Dylan swung around the doorframe just long enough to get in a few shots prior to moving aside. A man came close to a window and one of the snipers picked him off. Dylan and Landon took care of the other two and cleared the room before more DHS agents swarmed in. Shouts of “Police!” filled the air.

  Two of the men were dead. They’d injured one man, John Graves. Blood seeped from a wound in his abdomen and he lay sprawled on the floor but tried to get up. He’d dropped his weapon a few feet away. When Landon stood over the son of a bitch, he aimed his Colt at Graves’ head and the man went still. Landon kicked Graves’ gun aside.

  Landon recognized the two dead as wanted men from the Jimenez Cartel. Agents went to each body and checked for a pulse and shook their heads when they found none.

  With O’Donnell standing over Graves, his gun trained on the man, Landon and Dylan moved down the hallway to a closed door. Incredibly loud music pounded from inside, a heavy throb and the deep bass causing the walls to vibrate.

  Landon and Dylan moved to either side of the door. With a nod to Landon, Dylan kicked the door in with a loud crash. He and Landon immediately pointed their weapons at a man and woman in bed.

  The woman screamed.

  “Police!” Landon shouted. “Freeze. Hands in the air.”

  Pablo slowly raised his hands, but the naked woman wrapped herself in a sheet and shrank away from Dylan and Landon. Dylan cleared the room and checked the bathroom while Landon kept his Colt trained on Pablo Perez, who scrambled to sit up.

  Dylan ordered the woman to drop the sheet and raise her hands. She clearly read the danger in his eyes and she hurried to obey as he continued to point his weapon at her.

  Landon moved toward the bed and Perez sneered at him. Landon took the handgun resting on the nightstand, put on the safety, and tucked it in his jeans. He knelt and scooped up a pair of pants from the floor, checked the pockets for any kind of weapon then tossed the pants onto the bed.

  “Get dressed.” Landon backed a few feet away as he spoke to Perez. “Slowly.”

  Perez slid off the bed and pulled on his pants, never taking his eyes off Landon.

  After checking the woman’s clothing and tossing it to her, Dylan ordered her to get dressed as well, keeping his own weapon aimed at her.

  Landon tossed Perez a button-up shirt from the foot of the bed. Perez slid it on and buttoned it. After Perez put on his shoes, Landon handcuffed him. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”

  Perez spit on the floor.

  “Out.” Landon pushed Perez toward the door. “Move it.”

  Dylan cuffed the now dressed woman and they left the room first.

  Perez, his head held high, walked down the hall to the living room, Landon gripping his upper arm. John Graves still lay on the floor, pale from loss of blood as emergency medical technicians worked on him. Agent O’Donnell remained close by.

  “How bad is it?” Landon asked the EMTs as he brought Perez to a halt.

  One of the technicians leaned back on his haunches. “Bullet went clean through.”

  Graves bared his teeth in a pained scowl but remained still as EMTs wheeled in a stretcher. O’Donnell never left Graves’ side, even when they loaded him onto the stretcher. O’Donnell handcuffed him to it and helped take him out to the waiting ambulance.

  For the sake of officer safety, in case more men with guns were hiding, the agents searched the house. While they checked it out, they found no sign of Alejandro Jimenez. However, they did find a shitload of cash and drugs lying out, plain to see, in the kitchen and in a back room.

  Landon and Dylan marched Perez outside and Landon shoved him into the backseat of one of the agency cars and shut the door hard behind him. The men watched the ambulance and agency vehicle leave, their drivers speeding them away.

  “We got two of the sonsofbitches.” Landon looked at Dylan. “You ready?”

  “Hell, yes.” Dylan started toward his SUV. “Let’s get this party rolling.”

  It didn’t take long to travel the distance from the house in Douglas to the DHS office. They ushered Perez into one of the interrogation rooms. Dylan and Landon went in the room a short time later, where they’d handcuffed the man to a chair. Dylan leaned up against the doorframe as Landon stood in front of Perez.

  “We have an eyewitness putting you at the scene of a homicide three nights ago.” Landon kept his tone and his expression controlled. “The murder of a DHS agent.”

  Perez’s expression grew cocky, as if he feared nothing. “I want a call and I want my lawyer.”

  “You’ve already been identified.” Landon gave Perez a hard look. “Now’s the time to start talking if you want to save your ass.”

  Perez shrugged. “I want my lawyer.”

  Landon’s temper flared even though he’d known going into the interrogation Perez would not give up anything easily. “We know Alejandro Jimenez pulled the trigger while you and John Graves held down the agent. You will get prison time.”

  Perez smirked. “Give me my call.”

  “Did I mention the crack we found lying around the house you were in?” Landon managed to rein in his temper. “Found your stash with one hell of a lot of cash.” He gave Perez a look of disgust. “Think your cartel is going to stand by you when you lose close to a million dollars in cash and crack?”

  For the first time, Perez appeared unnerved. “Just get me my damn lawyer.”

  Landon shook his head. “Even if we didn’t have anything to hold you and cut you free, you’d probably be gunned down the moment you set foot outside this place.”

  Perez licked his lips.

  “If you give us everything we want on Diego and Alejandro Jimenez and help us put them away, we can put you under our protection and offer you a deal.” Landon stared unflinchingly at Perez. “If you don’t, you know you’re as good as dead as far as the cartel is concerned.”

  Perez said nothing but Landon thought he saw a hint of fear before the cocky expression replaced it. “Go to Hell, motherfucker.”

  “If Graves gives us what we need then our offer to you is off the table and you go to prison for a long time. And you’ll be a dead man as far as the cartel is concerned.” Landon gave the man another look before walking to where Dylan stood. He glanced over his shoulder at Perez who glared at them. Landon added loud enough for Perez to hear, “We’ll give Perez time to consider everything.”

  Dylan opened the door and they walked out of the room. “Let’s go see what Graves has to say.”

  When they reached the Douglas hospital, Landon and Dylan went to the information desk and were given the location and room number for Graves.

  As they walked through the hospital, flashbacks nearly caused Landon to stumble and halt. The smel
ls and the very atmosphere of the place reminded him too much of Stacy and the night she’d died. He’d been carted away to the hospital. Stacy’s body had been taken to the hospital too, for the official declaration of her death. For more than a year he’d told himself he should have died, not her.

  A thought occurred to him. Tori had changed that. Somehow, after meeting her, he didn’t have a death wish any longer.

  What the fuck was with him? He barely knew the woman.

  It didn’t take long for Dylan and Landon to reach the room where they held Graves. Two agents were stationed on either side of the doorway.

  Landon spoke with the junior agents. “Has anyone outside of hospital staff stopped by?”

  The agent to the left of the doorway shook his head. “No one.”

  “Only nurses and a doctor have entered the room, all of whom had been cleared.” The other agent spoke up. “A nurse and the doctor are with Graves now.”

  The nurse opened the door and came out into the hallway. Landon introduced himself and Dylan to the nurse before asking about Graves’ condition.

  The woman, appearing to be in her late forties, held a chart to her chest. “The doctor is with him now. You can ask him when he comes out.”

  A moment later, a man in a white hospital coat and green scrubs stepped out of Graves’ room.

  “Dr. Harrison?” Landon asked.

  “Yes?” The doctor adjusted his stethoscope around his neck as he looked from Landon to Dylan. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

  “I’m Special Agent Walker and this is Special Agent Curtis.” Landon inclined his head in the direction of Graves’ room. “How is the patient?”

  “Mr. Graves is in a stable condition.” Dr. Harrison didn’t appear to be concerned. “The bullet went through his side cleanly and no organs were damaged. He’s been treated and should be discharged to DHS by tomorrow.”

  “Too bad,” Dylan muttered under his breath, low enough that hopefully only Landon could hear him.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Landon nodded to Graves’ room. “We’d like to ask him a few questions.”

  Dr. Harrison gestured to the doorway. “Go right on in.”

  Landon and Dylan entered the room. One of John Graves’ wrists hung from a cuff fastened to the bedrail. The blond man aeemed a little worse for the wear, his face pale and drawn. He scowled when he saw the agents but he didn’t speak.

  “We’re going to have a little talk, Graves.” Dylan stood near the bed. “And you’d better listen closely.”

  The conversation went much like the one with Perez had. The excessively angry and stubborn Graves also kept asking for a lawyer.

  “You know you won’t walk out of this alive.” Landon eyed Graves squarely. “Diego Jimenez doesn’t like loose ends. You assisted his son in executing a federal agent and your testimony would help get him convicted. He’s not going to let you live.”

  Landon knew they were starting to get to him as Graves’ blinked rapidly and passed a hand over his face. “Fuck you.”

  “I think you’re the one who’s going to be thoroughly fucked when this is all over with.” Landon rested his hand on the bar agents had handcuffed Graves to. “Think fast because you don’t have much time.”

  Like Perez, Graves remained mute. Landon and Dylan left the room.

  “One of them will come around.” Dylan jangled his keys in his hand as they headed through the hospital’s automatic glass doors. “I’m betting on Perez.”

  Landon squinted at the bright sunshine and pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the pocket of his overshirt to slip on. “I’m betting you’re right.”

  Tori sat on the couch in the living room downstairs and O’Donnell reclined in the overstuffed chair. The ugly furnishings with goldish-brown upholstery and scuffed wood coffee and end tables had clearly seen plenty of use.

  She’d spent some time with her clarinet, which had soothed her, but she felt caged now. She glanced at O’Donnell, who still had small cuts on his face from the night at the first safe house when they’d been attacked.

  One of the popular reality singing shows played on the TV and she thought her brain would explode. To her trained ear, it physically hurt to listen to the bad singing, guitar, and piano playing. Granted, some contestants sang and played their instruments beautifully, but the bad ones gave her a headache.

  “You okay?” O’Donnell asked, drawing her out of her thoughts as the commercials came on.

  “I’ll be fine.” She tried to smile. “Just going a little stir crazy. I could really use a glass of wine right now.”

  “I don’t blame you for being stir crazy. I’ll get you some water.” He looked apologetic. “Sorry we don’t have anything stronger.”

  He stood and headed in the direction of the kitchen then paused in the archway between the rooms. “Hey, Danson. Toss me a couple bottles of water.” He stayed in the doorway where he could keep an eye on the front door and Tori while he waited for Agent Danson to hand him the bottles.

  Where could Landon be? He’d been gone since early this morning and now the sun had gone down. Would he return today? A new ache in her chest surprised her. Why did she need to see him so badly?

  Need or want?

  Both.

  She leaned her head back against the couch and looked up at the ceiling. She didn’t know how on earth she would manage living in protective custody. It made her claustrophobic. Having one of her clarinets helped, but she would love a notebook to compose in. She couldn’t find paper or a pen anywhere in this damned house. Composing and playing her instrument soothed her whenever something upset her. She’d been through it plenty of times with Gregory.

  Her throat constricted as she thought of him. He’d been a bastard but he hadn’t deserved to die the way he had. His intern hadn’t deserved to be murdered, either. Even though Landon had told her not to blame herself, she couldn’t help feeling the deaths were her fault.

  When O’Donnell returned, he handed her an icy-cold water bottle that chilled her fingertips.

  “Thanks.” She took a drink. The cool and refreshing water assuaged her thirst, but she really did want something stronger.

  O’Donnell’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it. “About time.” O’Donnell got up and went to the door.

  A moment later he let Landon in. Tori’s belly flip-flopped and she couldn’t believe how fast her body reacted to seeing him. Just thinking about his kisses and the way he had caressed her body made her nipples taut beneath her T-shirt.

  He met her gaze and raised a bag. “Hope you like Chinese.”

  “Love it.” She got to her feet, the warm smells of the food he carried making her stomach growl.

  She followed him into the kitchen that had a small dining area off to the side. He set all of the white containers at the center of the long table and she helped him open everything while Agent Claire Danson grabbed plates out of the cabinets.

  After Landon took a plate of food into the living room for Agent O’Donnell, he returned with a slim bag she hadn’t noticed before. The bag had the name of a music store scrawled across it. He handed Tori the bag then sat next to her at the table.

  Her lips curved into a broad smile as she opened the package and pulled out a beautiful notebook called The Musician’s Notebook, with staves for writing music, tablatures for recording chords, and space for writing lyrics. The black notebook had quotes from legendary musicians about the creative process and the thrill of performance.

  She almost teared up from the fact he’d taken the time to get her the notebook. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  “No problem at all.” He returned her smile before spooning white rice onto his plate and following it with broccoli beef. “Pencils are at the bottom of the bag, along with a pen.”

  “Thank you.” She slipped the notebook back into the bag and set it on the chair beside her prior to reaching for the carton of kung pao chicken.

  “If you e
nd up going into the Witness Security Program”—Agent Danson tilted her head to the side—“you will never be allowed to perform in public again or even teach music.” She gave Tori an apologetic smile. “You won’t be allowed to do anything relating to your current career. The cartel could find you if you did.”

  Tori paused in mid-motion, her hand on the Chinese food container. She looked from Danson to Landon. “What?” Had she heard right? She prayed she hadn’t.

  A hard expression crossed Landon’s expression and he glared at Danson. “If—no, when—we take down Diego and Alejandro Jimenez, it won’t be an issue.”

  Tori’s appetite vanished. “What you’re saying is if you don’t get them, I’ll have to go into hiding and never perform again? I wouldn’t be able to teach music?”

  “It’s one of the rules of WITSEC.” Danson drew Tori’s attention back to her. “You have to take on a new career, change your name, move to a different part of the U.S. and can never be in contact with your family or friends from your old life.”

  Tori’s mind reeled and she placed her palms flat on the table to steady herself. Never perform again? Never teach again? Never see her family again? Never see her friends from school, or the symphony, or anyone else she knew?

  Dear God.

  She pushed back her chair. “Excuse me. I’m tired and I’m going to bed.” She scooted her chair back up to the table and didn’t so much as glance at Danson or Landon as she left the room and headed up the stairs to her bedroom.

  Tears burned in her eyes. She wanted to slam the door shut behind her so it vibrated through the house. She wanted to scream and beat on the walls with her fists. The cartel could take everything from her. Everything.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a sob.

  A knock came at the door. “Tori?” Landon’s voice.

  She didn’t speak and he pushed open the door. He held the bag with the musician’s notebook. He set it on the nightstand, next to the paperback book she’d been reading.