by CW Browning
“That's quite alright.” Stephanie shook his hand and sat down again in the chair where she had been whiling away the time on her smartphone. “It's the weekend. Even Federal agents get a Saturday,” she added with a smile.
Michael nodded and moved behind his desk. He unlocked a drawer and started sorting through the neat piles of folders inside, clearly looking for one.
“I understand your Saturday was a little disrupted this morning,” he said, glancing at her.
Stephanie didn't miss the sharp searching glance. When they told her at the hospital that someone in the Secret Service wanted to see her, she knew that yet another agency was looking for information on Viper. She agreed to come along only when she heard the agent's name.
“It was nothing,” Stephanie said calmly.
Michael looked at her.
“Someone tried to run you over.”
“Just an accident,” she replied with a shrug.
Michael studied her for a beat before dropping into his seat.
“Well, I hope you're right,” he said, flipping open the folder that he had fished from the drawer. “Are you just in DC for the weekend?” he asked conversationally and Stephanie hid a grin.
“I don't know how long I'll be staying. I'm on vacation,” she said, crossing her legs. She couldn't quite contain the grimace of pain that flashed across her face and Michael caught it.
“You're in pain,” he stated, concern in his voice.
“Just some bruising on my back,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I had to dive over the hood of a Corolla. I didn't land on my feet.”
Michael grimaced sympathetically.
“Hospital check you out?” he asked. She nodded.
“Just scrapes and bruises.”
“That's good to hear.” He glanced down at his folder again. “I won't keep you long. I just had a few questions about what happened on Three Mile Island.”
“Of course.”
Stephanie sat back and watched him. He was relaxed and calm as he scanned through the papers in the folder. When he looked up, his hazel-green eyes were nothing but friendly.
“Look, I know you've been questioned up, down, and around the block about that night,” Michael told her. “I'm not going to make you repeat it all.”
“I appreciate that,” Stephanie said with a smile.
“Who shot Johann Topamari?” Michael asked bluntly.
Stephanie didn't blink, but she was startled. She hadn't been expecting a frontal attack. She studied him, somewhat impressed.
“It was joint effort between the FBI and Homeland Security.”
She gave him the department-approved answer while her mind worked furiously. This wasn't just another agent looking for confirmation that Alina had been there that night. He knew she was there. Now, why would the Secret Service have an interest in her?
“Of course it was,” Michael agreed, smiling slightly and sitting back in his chair. His eyes met hers and they studied each other for a moment in silence. “That was a pretty good shot.” Michael finally broke the silence, leaning forward and checking the papers in the folder again. “Ballistics put it at over 300 meters with a very strong cross wind. Not many people can make a shot like that so accurately.”
“Luckily for me, they could,” Stephanie answered dryly.
She met his stare calmly, showing only polite interest. After another long silence, Michael's lips twitched. He reached forward and flipped the folder closed.
“Ok,” he said with a sigh. “Have it your way.” He looked at her. “But I can't help her if I don't know what the story is,” he added softly.
Stephanie studied him in silence, torn between her loyalty and her gut. Absurdly, she really believed that he wanted to help Viper. Michael held her gaze and his breath. He could feel the federal agent wavering. She wanted to tell him something. He could feel it.
“How long have you been out of the Marines?” Stephanie asked him suddenly, surprising him. He raised his eyebrows.
“What makes you think I'm a Marine?” he asked.
“First, there was nothing in any of the reports about a cross wind. Only a shooter would know that there had to be one at that angle. I'm guessing you made quite a few of those shots yourself,” she told him. “Second, you have a picture of your unit on the top shelf of the bookshelf behind me.”
Michael chuckled.
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “I've been out five years.”
“A good friend of mine had a brother in the Marines,” Stephanie told him after a moment. “He always said that when he became a Marine, they became his family. There was no higher loyalty than to the Corps, save to God Himself, and to Country.”
“That's right,” Michael agreed, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“It's admirable, that kind of loyalty,” Stephanie mused. “'Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends,'” she quoted softly.
Michael watched her quietly for a moment.
“Semper Fi,” he murmured. He sat forward and pulled a card out of his desk, scrawling a number across the back. “Well, if you think of anything you want to tell me, this is my personal cell phone.”
He stood up and handed her the business card. Stephanie took it and tucked it into her purse.
“Thank you.” She held out her hand. “I'm sorry I couldn't be more help,” she added.
Michael grasped her hand and smiled slowly, his hazel eyes warm.
“You've told me exactly what I needed to know.”
Stephanie met his eyes and smiled back before turning to leave. At the door, she paused.
“You drink Jameson?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. Michael raised an eyebrow.
“I'm Irish,” he answered with a laugh.
Stephanie pointed to a dusty empty bottle on the bookshelf, under the picture of his unit.
“I think it's time for a new bottle,” she said with a grin.
Michael laughed and she disappeared out the door. After the door closed behind her, he sank into his chair slowly.
Viper had saved Stephanie Walker's life, and she had done it by putting her own life in danger. She knew that by pulling the trigger that night, she would be inviting the storm that was chasing her now. He picked up an old baseball and absently began to toss it from hand to hand as he spun his chair around, staring up at the wall. That was not the action of a psychotic assassin gone rogue. That was the action of a person fighting for something.
Michael didn't think Stephanie even knew what Viper was fighting for, but it was clear that she was not about to say what she did know. How did Stephanie even know Viper? Were they old friends? New friends? Strangers? The word friend covered a whole gamut of relationships. He couldn't make the mistake of taking the word at face value.
Stephanie hadn't told him much, but she had told him enough to be sure of one thing: Viper was not the enemy.
She was the victim.
Damon frowned slightly and watched as Alina disappeared into the apartment high rise. He didn't like the idea of being responsible for two federal agents in a safe house. He shook his head slightly and scratched his jaw where a five o'clock shadow was growing. He finished scratching and raised his binoculars, scanning the harbor once more. Everything was quiet and appeared normal. The safe house was a luxury apartment on the Baltimore Harbor. It over-looked the water and Hawk had to admit that it was perfect. No one would ever dream that two feds would be hiding in a swanky apartment so close to everything. He lowered the binoculars and yawned. The Jeep was parked in a side alley between two buildings, diagonal from the apartment. Hot afternoon sun glinted off the windshield and Damon thought briefly of turning on the engine for a few minutes to run the air conditioner. The top was up and he was sweltering. Deciding against it, he chugged some lukewarm water from the bottle next to him and scratched his jaw again.
He knew Alina had no choice in squirreling her old friends away somewhere safe. Once Stephanie had shown
up in DC asking questions, she became a clear target, and it was only natural that her partner, and Alina's ex, would stay with her. But Damon didn't have to like it, and he didn't. Too many people were involved in this mess now and there were too many chances for collateral damage. He wasn't comfortable with any of it.
Hawk watched as a black 1978 Firebird eased around the corner and rolled by the front of the apartment building. He glanced at his watch as John pulled into the entrance of the underground parking garage beneath the building. He was right on time. At least he didn't appear to have had any trouble getting Stephanie to cooperate. Alina had been worried about that, which was why he was sitting out here, melting in the afternoon heat, while she was inside waiting for them. She wanted to impress the severity of the situation upon Stephanie personally and, Hawk suspected, give both her old friends an opportunity to see that she was alive and well.
Damon continued to watch the crowds and traffic, looking for any sign of surveillance. There was none. After another ten minutes without any suspicious activity, he decided that John and Stephanie had gotten away clean. He leaned his head back on the seat, his eyes ever watchful, and waited for Viper to finish.
Stephanie looked around the thickly carpeted hallway with cream-colored walls as John unlocked the apartment door. The hall was totally silent. She couldn't even hear muted sounds coming from any of the other apartments. She wondered if they were empty or if the insulation in the walls was just that good. This was clearly an expensive building filled with luxury apartments and Stephanie wondered who was paying for it.
By the time she left Michael O'Reilly's office, she had been hungry. She went to pick up a sandwich and when she came out of the sub shop, John had been waiting for her. He hadn't minced words. She and her sandwich were hustled into his car and he drove north. He hadn't explained anything on the hour and a half ride from DC to Baltimore except that he was taking her to a safe house. The ensuing argument that erupted lasted half the drive. John wasted no time in letting her know exactly what his opinions were on partners who took off on their own to start investigations that they had been told to leave alone. Stephanie felt just guilty enough about lying to him that she had shut her mouth and simmered in silence the rest of the way to Baltimore.
John took a painfully circuitous route out of DC, but once they hit the interstate, he had dropped the pedal and they had flown north. He drove as if demons were chasing them, and part of Stephanie's silence had been an effort not to distract him. She didn't entirely trust John's driving or his old car.
“Welcome to our temporary home,” John said, opening the door to the apartment.
Stephanie shot him a fuming glare and stepped past him into the apartment. The floors were hardwood and gleamed with polish, not a speck of dust visible. The cream walls were decorated with standard prints in frames and the apartment was furnished in deep chocolate brown, comfortable furniture.
“Well, at least it's better than our safe houses,” Stephanie said grudgingly.
She set her purse on an end table and looked around. She was standing in a large living room with a couch and two matching recliners. A 52-inch flat-screen TV was on the wall and below it was an entertainment module with a dvd player, a cable box, and even a game system. The windows were shuttered with mini blinds, and thick cream curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor. They were tied back with chocolate tie-backs and the shades were closed. She glanced down a short hall to the left and saw three doors, presumably bedrooms and bath. On the right was a dining room attached to a large kitchen with an arched opening in the wall.
Stephanie wandered into the kitchen while John closed the door behind them and glanced around. The appliances were stainless steel and the counters were granite marble. Everything was top of the line. She opened the refrigerator and was surprised to see it stocked with cold cuts, bottled water, a six pack of beer, and condiments. A peak into the freezer revealed frozen meat and vegetables.
“Hey, there's food in the freezer!” she called out. “Where did you find this place?”
Stephanie closed the freezer and frowned when John didn't answer. She turned to go back into the living room.
“I said, where...”
Her voice trailed off as she stepped out of the kitchen. Leaning against the back of the couch with her arms crossed was Alina. Her hair was red now and pulled back into a loose ponytail. She seemed thinner than she had been three months ago and her skin was darker. Her eyes were a glittering green and she smiled slightly when Stephanie stopped dead. She looked just as dangerous now as she had the last time Stephanie saw her.
“Hi Steph.”
Stephanie glanced at John, who was quietly setting his keys on the end table next to her purse. He met her glance and she suddenly understood why he hadn't given her any information in the car.
“Alina!” Stephanie turned her attention back to her old friend. “Where the hell have you been? What's going on?” she demanded.
Alina straightened up and uncrossed her arms.
“You've gone and got yourself neck-deep in trouble again, that's what's going on,” Alina retorted dryly.
She turned to move into the dining room and Stephanie's eyes fell to the gun tucked into the holster at the back of her jeans. Stephanie glanced at John and found him staring at the same thing, his gaze hooded. Alina grabbed a case from the dining room and came back, motioning Stephanie into the living room. Frowning, Stephanie sat on the couch while John perched on the arm next to her and they watched as Alina set the case on the coffee table. She glanced at Stephanie, those strange green eyes glittering.
“Do you still have the back-up Glock I gave you?” she asked.
Stephanie nodded and pulled it from her holster, holding it out to Alina. Alina shook her head.
“You keep it,” she told her. “I'll take it back when you're safe.”
“I'm safe now,” Stephanie argued.
“Oh really?” Alina raised an eyebrow. “What happened this morning?”
“A car came around the corner too fast in the parking garage. They didn't see me,” Stephanie said stubbornly. Alina's eyes bore into hers steadily and, after a moment, Stephanie's gaze wavered. “Ok. They may have sped up just a little,” she relented. “How did you even know?”
“I was with Mike O'Reilly when he got the call,” Alina told her, sitting on the edge of the coffee table next to the case. Stephanie grinned.
“I knew it!” she cried triumphantly. “I knew it was the same Michael O'Reilly even before I saw Dave in the picture of his unit at his office. I guessed you were in DC as soon as he started asking questions about you.”
Alina's eyes narrowed slightly.
“You didn't tell him you recognized him, did you?” she asked sharply. Stephanie frowned.
“Of course not,” she answered. “He has no idea who I am.”
Alina released a sigh of relief.
“Good,” she murmured.
John looked at her, his blue eyes hooded.
“I take it he has no idea that every government agency is looking for you?” he asked.
Alina's lips curved slightly, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.
“Oh, he knows,” she answered. “He just doesn't know it's me that they're looking for. It's complicated.”
“Everything with you is complicated,” John muttered, scowling.
Stephanie tucked the modified glock that Alina had loaned her three months ago back into her side holster.
“So, what do you know that I don't?” she asked Alina. Alina grinned.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she replied. The two women shared a reluctant smile.
“I don't know much,” Stephanie admitted, sitting back on the couch. “I went to Shannon's grave and then tried to question what witnesses there were. I can tell you that they've all been threatened and/or paid off, and they all have the same story. Her car mysteriously lost brakes, she lost control and went over the edge of a ravine. They won't say
if there was another vehicle. I think they're scared.”
“Did you check with her mechanic?” Alina asked. Stephanie nodded.
“He was the only one who didn't seem nervous,” she said. “I got the impression that he was tired of being bothered with the whole thing. He seemed more irritated than anything. He says that her car was in the shop two weeks before the accident for an oil change.” Stephanie smiled slightly. “After some flirting, he softened up and told me what, I think, is the truth. He did a quick check on everything at her request and he swears that the brakes were fine. There was nothing wrong with them.”
“Not surprising,” Alina said with a nod.
“Where's your old friend, Mr. Peterson?” Stephanie asked.
“Actually, in a Jeep down the street, covering me while I'm in here,” Alina answered shortly. “He had nothing to do with Shannon's death.”
“I'd like to make that decision,” Stephanie retorted.
Alina raised her eyebrow. She and Stephanie stared at each other for a moment before Alina sighed in resignation.
“Trust me,” she said quietly. “The person responsible for Shannon's death is the same person who smuggled Johann and the Engineer into the country. It's the same person who has the entire alphabet trying to take me down, dead or alive, and it's the same person who tried to run you over this morning. That person is not Damon.”
Stephanie and John stared at her speechlessly and Alina stared back, somewhat amused.
“Please don't tell me that you never once considered the possibility that all the events between then and now were manipulated by someone other than a dead terrorist,” she said, looking from one to the other. They were silent and Alina's eyebrow soared into her forehead in disbelief.
“Well, that certainly explains alot about all the meetings and interrogations I was dragged into,” Stephanie said to John. He nodded.
“You should never have come down here alone,” he muttered.
Stephanie glanced at him.
