“Great. We’ve been kidnapped by amateurs.” Which could be good or bad. Might be easier to bamboozle people who were making up as they went along. But wannabes might feel the need to try harder, and the notion of terrorists who tried harder didn’t exactly inspire confidence.
Ly had just managed to work her hands free when Craggyface—Alexy—burst in, brandishing a phone. They both froze, knowing their positions made it clear they were working to free each other. Alexy, though, had other things on his mind. “What is this? You told us this woman, she knows nothing. What is the file with her name on it on his phone, then?” He got into her face. He smelled like cabbage rolls.
She blinked, thought fast, decided honesty was the best answer. “What file? I didn’t see anything except a few emails.”
A meaty hand cracked into her face. She’d always thought seeing stars was just an expression, but as her head snapped to the side and pain washed over her, she saw a wash of red, punctuated by flashes of light. Stars, just like in a cartoon. She focused on that to stave off panic.
It didn’t help much.
“One note. One note only, and it is called For Suzanne. You are Suzanne, no? So how do you not know about it?”
She figured saying I have no fucking idea would at best get her hit again. She figured telling as much of the truth as she dared, though, would be good. “I checked the emails and phone logs because I thought my husband had been having an affair. It was all work-related, though, and I couldn’t make sense of it, so I was bringing it to Ly. I didn’t even look at the notes app once I realized it was a work phone.”
He tossed the phone onto the desk. “You worked with Mayhew, knew how he thought,” he barked at Ly. “Open the file.”
Ly nodded tightly, then shrugged. “Love to, but I’m a little tied up here.”
Alexy strode around the desk, kicked Suzanne out of the way—not hard, more the way you’d nudge an underfoot cat—and slashed Ly’s bonds with a hardcore-looking knife he’d pulled from his belt. “A few more minutes and she’d have gotten you free. I see her hands are loose. Not that either of you would have gotten far, but I like that you tried. A person should keep fighting.” He smiled again, another disturbingly non-disturbing expression. “It is a good thing I am in charge, not Olek. No patience, that one. No sense of proportion.”
Ly stretched his arms and shook out his hands. “Could you get my ankles so I can stretch a little?” he asked hopefully.
Instead, Alexy shoved the phone into his hands. “That would be foolish,” he said. “Get to work.” Then he crouched down and re-taped Suzanne’s hands. “I am sorry, but you are a determined one, and women are good at taking advantage of any moment of weakness.”
She couldn’t argue with that, since she’d been analyzing him all along for that very purpose. Not that she was about to argue with an armed terrorist.
“I knew Frank better than Ly did,” she said boldly. “Better than anyone. I can help him crack the password on the file.” Might not be true—she seriously doubted anyone had known Frank as well as they thought they had—but she had a feeling it was to her advantage to appear useful.
Not to mention that getting up off the hardwood floor would be a blessing.
“It’s probably the kind of password that will destroy the file if we get it wrong too often,” Ly said cheerfully. “Frank was a paranoid SOB.”
“At least that’s what we all thought until…”
Alexy shrugged. “Until someone murdered him, I know. Was not us. I would rather not kill you, either. Olek…you can’t be sure with Olek. Sometimes I think it is not so much that he loves our country but that he loves guns. Now, shut up and get to work.”
Suzanne was praying for a password, maybe even the self-destructing kind. Wouldn’t that be a kick in the ass for these losers?
But the file opened by touching it, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary.
A screen full of plain type opened.
The date on the top was the day he’d made that fatal road trip to Vermont.
Suzanne drove her nails into her palms and bit her lip, hoping the slight pain would ward off the tears she could feel welling already.
Dear Suzanne,
I’m sorry. If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. I’ve always tried to keep you separate from my work and told myself it was for the best. That it was safer for you and for the work. I’m a defense contractor. I build top-secret tools that protect this country. I still can’t tell you exactly what I do, not even now. But I’m in danger. Someone has demanded the plans for my latest project. They know where we live, know where you work.
They’re getting what they think are the plans. My contacts at the Department of Defense know what’s really going on. It should be enough to protect you for a while.
But it may not be enough to save me today.
You guessed I was lying to you and you were right. It wasn’t what you thought it was. It was worse in a way. But I never cheated on you. We might have fallen apart anyway, even without my work and its secrets. Even now, I can’t tell you how I feel to your face. Not sure I can in writing, but at least I can try this way. I love you, Suzanne. I’m not in love with you anymore, not the way I think you want to be loved. But I love you. You’re the only person who’s not so impressed by the fancy cars and the toys I make that you won’t call me on my shit and I need that in my life. God, I wish I’d figured that out sooner—so you could have really been in my life, as a friend if not a wife, while I was still alive.
Frank
Alexy slammed the knife into the wall, where it quivered like Suzanne’s nerves. “What is this, some kind of code?”
“I think,” Ly said slowly, “that it’s a letter from my dead partner to his wife. But it might also be a code. Even dead, he’s smarter than the rest of us put together.” He wiped away a tear.
That was enough to undo Suzanne’s efforts to hold herself together.
She was still crying when she heard a crash that sounded like a door bursting in. Alexy ran out of the office, reaching for his gun. She held her breath to listen for the sound of the lock clicking into place—which it did, he wasn’t that much of an amateur—but the tears still flowed.
“Federal agents!” she heard. “Hands in the air.”
That never works, she thought, thinking of all the times she’d watched that scenario play out on TV. They never just give up.
She was still crying when the shooting started.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Neil reached Suzanne’s FBI contact when he called, but Delvecchio and his team were already on the move. It turned out someone at Mayhew had gotten through first. The FBI and local LEOs—and who knows what other alphabet agencies the FBI had called in—were just a few minutes behind Neil and his father. Of course they’d all said not to go in, not to do anything, but the hell with that.
The FBI and company would be most concerned about catching the terrorists or whatever the hell these scumbags actually were. For all Neil or anyone else knew, they might be garden-variety criminals looking to sell some valuable technology to the highest bidder, no politics involved. No one knew if Ly Vo was a mastermind or a victim. No one knew much of anything except that Suzanne, or at least Suzanne’s phone, was at Ly Vo’s house.
So Neil did what any sensible person would do when about to do something completely crazy: he pulled up the house on the town assessor’s database to see if there was a plot and floor plan. Sure enough, there was. Rough, and tiny on his phone’s screen, but at least he knew where the back entrance was, and how, thanks to online maps, to sneak through the neighbors’ huge, wooded lot to get to it.
The law enforcement people who were supposed to be there would surround the building, make a coordinated assault. He’d just have to get into place beforehand and use the distraction they presented to get inside.
Neil
shouldn’t be there. Boston wasn’t involved in this case. But there were so many agencies involved that there was a little confusion, a lot of unfamiliar faces, and, since this had come together so quickly, a few federal agents were in decidedly casual clothes because they’d been called in suddenly on a day off. As long as he ducked the one person who’d know him by sight, the LEO he’d met at Mayhew, this should work.
It would probably cost him his job and make him a front-page-of-the-Globe scandal, but right now that didn’t seem important. Even his father, who’d run out of fucks to give about procedure versus justice a long time ago, had tried to talk him out of infiltrating the raid.
Though that might have been because his dad wanted to be the one to do it. Had less to risk, he said.
Which he did.
But Neil had more to gain.
Suzanne came first. The rest would sort itself out.
He let the officers who’d been assigned to this raid go in first through the side door into a mudroom the size of his living room and kitchen combined and into a spectacular kitchen that he had a bad feeling would look less spectacular by the time today’s work was done.
Only two of the mystery bad guys were holding the space, though, and one heard “Federal Officers, drop your weapons!” and actually did. Then he fell to his knees and started babbling in some Eastern European language Neil couldn’t identify.
The other perp, a young guy with almost white hair and the dead eyes of a functional psycho, took aim, but not very well.
He managed to get off one wild shot before the lead FBI agent double-tapped him.
In the resulting swarm of humanity, Neil slipped away.
More agents and cops were swarming in the front door, dealing with a small group of defending bad guys. No shooting yet, though, so Neil ignored them. He didn’t know where he was going, just a gut feeling.
Office. He was looking for an office. Ly Vo had to have one in his home. Whether he was an accomplice or a victim, the office and its high tech contents would be a part of the plot. Of course, the office could be anywhere and the house was immense.
It was pure luck that led him to the locked door at the end of the hall before anyone else got to it. He threw himself at the door, yelled “Suzanne!” like an idiot.
And was rewarded by the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. “I’m in here.”
Neil had never looked more gorgeous than he did storming in the door. The film of tears that hazed Suzanne’s vision distorted him a little, but that didn’t matter. So fierce, so handsome, so welcome. He was armed with a handgun, but wasn’t in uniform. Some small part of Suzanne’s brain wondered what that meant.
But most of her couldn’t worry about that, any more than she could worry about the way her heart surged when she saw him. And it wasn’t because he was rescue but because he was Neil.
“Neil?” Her voice sounded small and frail. She’d managed to sound brave dealing with Craggyface or Alexy or whatever his name was, but Neil was different. She didn’t need to be brave anymore. “Thank God. Thank you.”
Neil took two big steps then glared at Ly Vo. He didn’t actually point the gun at Ly, but his expression was a weapon all by itself. Ly, who’d already been pale and holding himself together by willpower, raised his hands and silently pushed himself farther away from her. He couldn’t get very far, but it seemed to be enough to satisfy Neil for now.
“Ly’s not involved, Neil.” Suzanne had to force the words out. The lump in her throat was so big it was hard to speak. “They were holding him hostage.”
Too much. It was all too much.
Neil glared at the other man again then seemed to notice the ropes that still secured him to the chair. He nodded curtly. “We’ll untie you in a few, Mr. Vo. I’ve got something to do first.”
Neil reached out and pulled Suzanne into his arms. The phone tumbled to the floor. “Thank God,” he whispered, and kissed the top of her head. “You all right?”
For a second, Suzanne didn’t know how to answer that question. All right seemed like a distant memory. “I’m not sure. They didn’t hurt me, but Neil…” She pointed at the phone, though Neil didn’t spare a glance for it. “So confused.”
He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Hush. You don’t need to make sense of it now. You’re probably in shock.”
She nodded. “Probably.” In so many ways but this wasn’t the right time to try to explain or think through.
“Let me get you free. Mr. Vo, I need scissors.” Ly had already grabbed them from the desk and had used them on his own bonds. He handed them over to Neil without a word.
The scissors were cold on her skin and Neil’s touch was warm and sure. Despite everything, Suzanne flashed to bondage and those EMT shears by the bed and thoughts of Neil doing teasing things to her with cool steel. Need and lust struck her, and her body didn’t care that it was completely inappropriate. She whimpered her desire and hoped it passed as a sound of distress.
Neil wasn’t fooled.
He ran the cool, blunt side of the scissor down the inside of her arm, awakening the tender flesh. “Soon,” he whispered. “As soon as I can get you home.”
All she wanted to do was let Neil whisk her to safety and then do wonderful, evil, kinky things to her until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone the last few hours.
But she couldn’t, could she? Not now. Leaving aside the practical things, like the fact the police and a whole alphabet’s worth of agencies would want to hear her version of what happened before she’d get to leave the day behind her, she couldn’t let herself fall into the comfort of Neil’s body. Couldn’t use him like that. And it would be using, with Frank’s last words burned from the screen in front of her and into her brain. She couldn’t do that to either of them.
She wanted Neil. Wanted him with every cell of her body.
But she was lost and frightened and trying to cope with far too much.
Frank had gone to a meeting that he knew might be fatal hoping it would protect her. Basically gone to his death for her sake. If that wasn’t love, what was?
Not whatever she felt for Neil Callahan. That was lust. Lust and a huge measure of gratitude. Gratitude was appropriate, but she was grateful for the other cops who were obviously out there dealing with the bad guys and she had no intention of having kinky sex with all of them. And while lust was great, had seemed like exactly what she needed when they met, it wasn’t appropriate now. She’d gotten involved with Neil thinking she was a free woman, a widow who was ready to move on.
She wasn’t. Not yet. Not until she had time to work through that so much of what she’d assumed about Frank was wrong.
But when her hands were free, the first thing she did was throw her arms around Neil’s neck. Couldn’t help herself.
As Neil caught her up in a devouring kiss, she didn’t push him away, just clung tighter.
The kiss only broke off when five armed officers crashed into the room. “Ms. Mayhew’s safe,” Neil confirmed, releasing her.
Her body rebelled, wanting to curl against him forever.
Her mind sighed with relief.
When she jumped at the intrusion and looked up, the first thing she saw wasn’t the officers or even Neil.
It was Frank’s letter, black type on a white background. She couldn’t actually see it at the moment, with the phone at her feet, but the words were burned into her eyeballs and brain.
Suzanne whispered, “Everything changed today, Neil. I’ve changed. I don’t think I can see you again.”
Neil finally focused on the phone she picked up and held out to him. He didn’t have time to read it, she thought, but he could see the date and the first few words and that was all he needed to know. He turned to her again. His blue eyes were so huge she might drown in them and so lost she wished she literally could drown in them and escape the stab o
f pain and guilt.
“I understand,” he said, and backed away. “I…I want what’s best for you. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. But you should be the one to turn this in.”
He handed her a flash drive, then added, “It was in the Mustang. I think it’s what all these assholes wanted.”
And then more officers piled in, filling the room, and Suzanne had to pretend that Neil was just another cop.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Being rescued was, in some ways, the beginning of a whole new nightmare involving questions, interviews and way too much attention from the media and the prospect of this particular bad dream dragging on for months or years until the Ukrainian terrorists went on trial.
But it wasn’t all bad. Suzanne didn’t have time to reread that last letter from Frank more than once or twice a day, didn’t have time to brood over what it meant for more than a few hours at a time.
She was so busy she only almost called Neil, then changed her mind, every fifteen minutes or so.
For a week or more, she didn’t even look at local news, not wanting to see her own face, or worse yet, Frank’s, plastered on the screen while some distressingly perky newscaster told half the story and left out the parts that really mattered.
Frank’s sacrifice.
Neil’s courage.
The way her husband had been returned to her, almost a year after his death and several years after the death of their marriage.
The way Neil had looked at her when she said it was over, right before they were swarmed by cops and FBI and they both had to pretend that, on top of everything else, she hadn’t just bruised his heart and cracked her own.
She didn’t want to answer the phone for anyone. She’d spent far too much time talking to law enforcement, the DoD, lawyers and everyone else under the sun. When she finally picked up for Janice, she admitted to herself it was because Janice was a connection to Neil.
And she’d trust Janice to tell her if she was playing the martyr like a moron, which she occasionally suspected.
Drive: Cougars, Cars and Kink, Book 1 Page 19
