by Dee Davis
She could do that later. After she was safely out of the country.
Her gaze swept across the distance between the shrubbery and her house. There was nothing moving, no sign of life at all. With a sharp intake of breath she made her way across the yard to the side of the house. Her back pressed to the siding, she waited again, searching for anything that might signal danger. This wariness was beginning to feel like second nature, and the thought frightened her almost more than the threat from the unknown assailants.
All of her life she’d longed for normalcy. Craved the routines of everyday existence. And now, here she was, breaking into her own house. She’d never thought of herself as someone who ran away from a threat, but she’d never been hunted by killers before—or almost fallen for a liar.
So many firsts.
She swallowed a bitter laugh.
Across the street, a light flickered to life in the front window of a house. Morning was coming and, with it, activity that was sure to bring witnesses and questions. Best to go now and be gone before the first light of day.
She made her way to the back of the house, ducking under a small magnolia for shelter, the insistent drone of a cicada breaking the silence. Only a few feet more to the back door. She’d hidden a key under a loose brick in the patio. At the time she’d felt rebellious. Doing something that she knew George would have forbidden, telling her it would be too easy for an intruder to predict her lack of caution. Now it was a godsend.
She knelt and retrieved the key, checking first to make sure there was no sign of activity. The backyard was small, bordered by a battered hurricane fence and a row of live oaks stretching across the back of the property. A pecan tree arched over the patio, a cluster of cannas framing the door. Heart rate ratcheting, Alexis pushed back to her feet and climbed the steps. She pulled open the screen and started to insert the key, but the door swung open from the pressure.
For a second she froze, certain she’d been discovered. But almost as quickly her brain reminded her that the house had already been ransacked. She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, waiting a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom.
Everything was just as she’d left it, although she hadn’t really remembered it being this bad. Broken dishes littered the kitchen floor, pots and pans strewn everywhere. The cabinets were all open with doors hanging at awkward angles. She covered her nose, the stench of rotting food from the refrigerator almost unbearable. Instinctively, she bent to pick up a piece of broken pottery but stopped halfway, realizing it was too late for cleaning up. Life for her here, in this house, was over. And the sooner she accepted the fact, the easier it would be to walk away.
Ignoring the mess, Alexis walked into the dining room, picking her way across broken glass and scattered lemons, to the bay window that fronted the house. The street outside was still quiet, the first hints of dawn lighting the horizon. She needed to hurry.
Moving aside the ripped cushions that lined the window seat, she reached into a small crevice between the painted siding underneath the seat, quietly thanking Victorian cynicism and doubt. She pressed her finger into the crevice, and after a soft click the board swung outward, revealing a cubby hole the size of a bread box. She reached inside and pulled out the moleskin-wrapped package that contained the money and ID—a passport and driver’s license in the name of Lisa Bennet.
“So much for Alexis,” she whispered, a wave of sadness washing through her. But determination won the day—or maybe self-preservation. Either way, she knew it was time. Rising, she stuffed the packet between the small of her back and her jeans and started across the room, pausing for a moment at the broken mirror.
The reflection shocked her. A woman with wild gray eyes and matted blonde hair tangled with a variety of leaves and twigs. A long angry scratch ran down the right side of her face. And the deep purple of a bruise was burgeoning just below her left ear. It was like looking at a stranger.
Tears threatened, and she turned away from the image. Alexis Markham was dead. No more meekly following behind George or her father. No more pretending she had a chance at normal. This was the life she’d been born into. There was no escaping. But she’d be damned if she’d let the bastards who’d taken her family win. Her father deserved better than that.
She turned back to the cubby hole, reaching into the far recesses, her hands closing around a second package. She laid it on the floor, hands shaking as she pulled the wrappings off. The gun looked harmless lying against the pockmarked floor. After she’d refused to keep one with her backpack, George had insisted on putting it in the hidden compartment. For emergencies, he’d said. She’d never pulled it out before, never thought she’d have any reason to use it. She hadn’t lied when she’d told Tucker she hated guns. But now, faced with the possibility of handling danger on her own, she knew that a weapon had become a necessity.
Dropping the gun into her pocket, she crossed the room again, pausing at the french doors that looked out onto the backyard. Like the rest of the windows in the house, she’d had wrought iron installed for protection. But she could still see the patio and the yard beyond. The sky was a pale pink now. It was time to move.
It seemed strange to think that Tucker was now one of the hunters. She had no doubt that he and Harrison would be looking for her. As hard as it was to accept, they were playing on opposite sides now, his lies only serving to reinforce what her father had drilled into her head.
Never trust the government.
No matter how charming the representative might be.
She closed her eyes, allowing a second to remember the feel of Tucker’s arms, the touch of his lips, the moment when they’d—She opened her eyes, reality coming in the form of a noise from the front of the house.
Adrenaline rushing, she sprinted into the kitchen, intent on the back door. Just a few more steps and she’d be safely away. She rounded the counter, reaching for the doorknob, but lost traction when her foot hit something slippery. She fought for balance and lost, landing hard on her knees, her hands in front of her to break her fall. She tried to scramble to her feet but had trouble finding purchase, something behind her impeding her progress.
Sucking in a breath, she fought against her panic and reached for the countertop to brace herself. She pulled herself upright and looked down, her stomach churning as she recognized what she’d slipped on.
Blood.
The floor was covered with blood.
Swallowing bile, she spun around, searching for danger but seeing instead the body of a man—facedown on the floor. The blood was his, a wicked-looking bullet hole in his head.
Hysteria threatening, Alexis turned again, this time determined to get out the door, but through the window she could see movement in the backyard. Behind her the floor creaked, the sound more terrifying than an unknown quantity in the yard.
With a mumbled prayer she pulled the gun from her pocket and headed back into the dining room, moving on silent feet, her attention focused on the french doors. Reaching into her pocket, she produced the key and fumbled to slide it into the wrought-iron lock.
Another board creaked, this one on the stairs, and adrenaline rushed in to replace fear. She had to get the hell out of here. Fast. The lock clicked, and she yanked open first the door and then the protective screening. The early morning air rushed in, heavy with the perfume of crape myrtles. She closed the door behind her and ducked down behind the biggest bush, searching the backyard for the source of the movement she’d seen before.
But instead she heard gunfire coming from the front of the house. Confused, she froze, her mind trying to make sense of the commotion. Someone was shooting, but not at her. Pushing aside her tumbling thoughts, she sprang to her feet and sprinted out onto the lawn, heading for the gate at the far end that led into her neighbor’s yard. A remnant from days when there’d been an alley, she’d always meant to get rid of that gate. Now she blessed her luck.
She headed through her garden, mindless now of the veget
ables and herbs growing there. It was only when she reached the tomatoes that she stopped, her jeans catching on the edge of one of the cages. She bent to free herself and something whizzed by her face, the sound of the gunshot registering only after the fact. Panicked, she turned to find Tucker, certain that he would know what to do.
But Tucker wasn’t here. She had only herself to count on now.
She jerked herself free and ran for the gate. A second bullet caught her arm, the sharp, burning pain making her dizzy. And then anger took over and she whirled around, searching for the gunman.
He was there on the edge of the garden, by the pecan tree, and even in the shadow she could see him smile as he lifted his gun. She opened her mouth to scream and then remembered her weapon. Seconds stretched into hours as she forced herself to raise her hand and tighten her finger on the trigger. Then, self-preservation kicking in, she dove for the ground.
In front of her the man’s hand suddenly jerked upward, the bullet going wide as he dropped the gun and fell to the ground. Alexis lay still in the mud of her garden, afraid to breathe, afraid that the man would come for her again, or that his friends would find her. She was incapable of moving. Of thinking. Of doing anything but concentrating on each and every breath.
And then he was there. Tucker. Reaching down to pull her up, holding her tightly in his arms. She could feel the heat of his breath, see the stubble of his beard and the worry in his eyes as he brushed the hair out of her face. “Are you hit?” he asked, blue eyes probing.
She nodded, still not quite believing he was there. “Just my arm. I don’t think it’s serious.” She wanted to be mad—to remember the pain of his betrayal. And she knew that eventually, when the adrenaline subsided, the anger would return. But right in this moment, she wanted him to go on holding her forever.
He lifted her arm and with gentle fingers probed the wound. She winced once but held strong even though it hurt like all hell. “It’s just a graze. It’s going to hurt for a while, but you’ll be okay.”
“And how about you?” she asked, reaching out with shaking fingers to touch his bruised face. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” he said, his hand covering hers. “You did what you had to do. And at some point we need to talk it all through. But not now.”
She nodded, her gaze still locked with his. There was so much to say—and yet all she could think about was the warmth of his fingers against her skin.
“Don’t worry,” he soothed, pulling her close again. “Everything is going to be okay.”
She wished it were as simple as all that. That the world was divided into black and white. But she’d learned a long time ago that things were far more complicated, the world filled instead with muted shades of gray. Good and evil looking practically the same. The trick being to choose wisely.
CHAPTER 19
Here,” Tucker said, kneeling beside Alexis as she huddled beneath a blanket in the shambles of her living room, “drink this. You’re going into shock. You need liquid.”
She nodded but didn’t take the cup of water he offered.
“You’ve got to try,” he urged, holding the cup to her lips. He’d seen this before, in Afghanistan and in Colombia both. Soldiers who acted with bravery in the moment and then fell apart after the crisis had passed.
She took a sip and then pushed his hand away. “I killed a man,” she whispered, her eyes wide with a mixture of both fear and fading adrenaline.
“No, sweetheart, you didn’t,” he said, lifting her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “Your shot went wide. You didn’t kill anyone. I did. I killed him.”
“And the other man?” she questioned, her voice raspy. “Did you kill him too? The man in the kitchen?”
“No.” He lifted the cup to her lips again. “He was already dead.”
She swallowed some water and then, after considering his words, took the cup and drained it. “So I didn’t kill him?”
“No. You didn’t.”
“Oh God,” she said. “I thought I’d… I thought…”
“Drink more water,” he urged again, filling the cup from a pitcher on the table.
She nodded again, her mind clearly still out in the garden. “I wanted you to come,” she whispered. “Even though I was angry, I wanted you to be there. To help me.”
“You were doing pretty well on your own,” he said, wishing he could make it all better but knowing he couldn’t. Every person had a breaking point. And clearly Alexis had reached hers. Now she just needed to regroup—to absorb everything that had happened. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the luxury of time. There were still people out there who wanted her dead.
“Do we know who the man you shot is?” Alexis asked, beginning to sound more like her old self.
“We do,” Drake answered, coming into the room and dropping down on the arm of the chair. All of the team had assembled, everyone but Avery, who was holding down the fort at Sunderland. And probably chomping at the bit to be here in the center of the action. “His name is William Thompson.”
“And, like Dryker, he’s got a history in security,” Hannah said, entering the room, Harrison just behind her. “Most of it falling on the legitimate side of things. But he’s also been connected to some shady operations over the years. Strictly low-level kinds of things. Nothing that would have put him on our radar.”
“And the guy in the kitchen?” Tucker asked.
“That’s another story altogether,” Harrison said. “Cristo Ramos. He’s a big-time player. Connected to arms trafficking in the Middle East as well as some of the major drug cartels in Central and South America. Basically, he’s available for most anything if the price is right. The important thing here is that his presence changes the game, moving it to a new and more dangerous level.”
“So did this Thompson guy kill Ramos?” Tucker asked.
“Not a chance,” Nash Brennon said, striding into the room. “Unless he tossed a second weapon. His gun isn’t the right caliber.”
“It was weird,” Alexis said, sounding calm now. “There was no one in the kitchen when I first came in. And I never heard Mr. Ramos or the shots that took him out. But I did hear someone in the house. That’s what made me run back into the kitchen. I was trying to get out when I fell over—” she paused, closing her eyes, clearly gathering strength. “When I fell over Ramos,” she said, opening her eyes, her gaze steady. “So it had to have happened in the interim between when I first came into the house and then tried to run back out again.”
“How long would you say that took?” Nash asked, eyes narrowed as he considered the situation.
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, frowning. “Ten minutes. Maybe a little less? I was moving pretty slowly. I wanted to be careful. But once I was inside, it wasn’t too much longer before I’d gotten what I came for.” She paused again, this time looking guilty. “My money and a new ID.”
“Exactly what I’d have done under the circumstances,” Hannah said with a smile. “So we’ve got to figure there were at least two men in the house when Alexis came in the door.”
“Actually, I’m thinking three,” Nash interjected.
“Why would you say that?” Tucker asked.
“Because I saw something when you took off for the back. It might have just been a shadow, but I could have sworn there was someone else here. Someone who ran when he realized we had the numbers.”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Tyler Hanson said, walking into the room holding a length of filament wire and what was clearly a pipe bomb.
“Jesus, Tyler,” Drake said, “are you sure that thing is stable?”
“It is now that I’ve disarmed it.” She waved it around to emphasize the point.
Alexis was wide-eyed again.
“She’s always a little bit scary,” Drake said with a grin. “But she’s usually harmless.”
Tyler frowned, then shrugged. “I found this under the front porch. It had a timer, but the thing hadn’t been set.
I’m guessing your shadow man was scared off before he could finish the job.”
“Great—so now the bomber is here too,” Harrison said. “Hell of a party. So we’re talking three players here?”
“No,” Tucker countered. “I’m thinking just two. Ramos and our bomber. And then the secondary shooters, including Thompson.”
“So Group Two surprises Group One, and all hell breaks out,” Hannah summarized.
“And I walked into the middle of all of it,” Alexis said, her fingers digging into his palm.
“If we’re right,” Drake added, “and someone went to the trouble to feed Milo information about who Harrison and Tucker really were, then it isn’t too far a reach to assume they did it in the hopes of flushing you out into the open.”
“You’re saying my running away from Tucker was exactly what they wanted me to do? ”
“Yes,” Nash affirmed, not pulling any punches. “But Hannah is right. If I’d been in your situation, I’d have done exactly the same thing.” He turned to Tucker, his eyes on the purpling knot on the side of his head, a smile curling at the edges of his lips. “And, quite frankly, I don’t think I could have done it any better.”
Alexis ducked her head, clearly mortified.
“So was it different here?” Harrison asked. “From before, I mean.”
Alexis frowned, chewing on the side of her lip as she considered the question. “There was more damage. Like maybe someone else had been here. The kitchen was messier, and some of the cabinet doors were off their hinges. And in the dining room—when I came home the first time, I distinctly remember that the bowl of lemons on the table was untouched. But tonight I was tripping on them.”
“What about you guys?” Nash asked, his gaze moving to Drake and Hannah. “Are things different from when you were here?”
