by Lea Griffith
Remi took a deep breath and let ice encase her. She lifted her head, searched for a way to get out of the burning heap of metal, and found that if she wiggled forward, she was able to move easier than sliding back.
Sounds infiltrated the crackling of the flames that surrounded her. People calling out, asking if anybody was alive. She pushed them aside, focused on one goal, getting free. Painful moments followed, the heat from the fire drawing closer.
“Lady! There’s a lady!” one woman yelled, and suddenly, Remi was being pulled from the car.
“It’s okay, we’ve got you now,” a frantic voice said.
Get the bag and the umbrella, Remi. Move! She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face, and looked around, her gaze finding her target. She made it to her knees, gagged, and shoved away the hands that reached for her.
“Lady, somebody’s coming to help you. Just lie down, you’re safe,” a man urged.
“I’m okay,” she managed to get out before she gained her feet and staggered back toward the burning car.
Someone grabbed her arm and she turned, struck out with the heel of her palm, and dropped the man. He writhed in pain and others quickly backed off, but she turned away and continued on.
She reached the burning husk of the car, located her umbrella, and reached in. A sharp metal edge caught her upper arm and ripped into the flesh there. She winced but snatched out her umbrella, and then her bag.
She swayed as she stepped back, felt hands at her back, and once again turned ready to take out anyone who would try to stop her.
Her head was swimming, eyes burning, arm stinging.
“Lady, I don’t know what the hell your problem is, but you’ve got to come away from this car!” A woman this time.
“Get your hands off me, okay? I’m not safe,” Remi ground out.
The woman instantly pulled her hands back as she stepped aside. Remi pushed forward and ignored the calls from the bystanders to wait for help. Instead she moved to the roadway that was quickly becoming congested with cars stopping for the wreck.
“Hey!” someone yelled. Remi ignored them, intent only on getting away from this place, right now.
She walked out into the highway, held up a hand, and someone stopped. She calmly limped around the vehicle and opened the passenger door. “Can you give me a ride?”
“Uh, sure?”
Definitely more question than assurance.
Remi folded herself into the compact car. Her hands were on fire but she held tight to her bag and umbrella.
“Lady, did you just come from that wreck?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes, I did. But I need a ride, okay?” She moved her sodden hair from her face.
He didn’t press the accelerator and her heart beat hard. She cocked her head, wondered at her body’s reaction. That could not be fear. She looked in the door’s mirror and saw flashing lights coming closer. He had to move.
“Can you please just go?” Desperation made her voice strident. She was unable to control the tone and her hands began to shake.
“I think you need an ambulance. People are gesturing for you to get out. . ." he trailed off. It had become difficult to convey his thoughts properly with a gun at his cheek, pressing lightly. “Okay, I’ll get us on the road,” he said quickly, putting the car into gear and hitting the gas.
Relief was a sweet coolness through her veins. She throbbed from head to toe. One shoe was missing, but she had the bag. And the umbrella. She was good. She slowly lowered the weapon. With a weathered eye on the side-view mirrors, she took her first full breath, barely held in a hiss as the pain infiltrated every inch of her skin.
“Get off in three exits,” she breathed out heavily.
“Yes, ma’am.” The driver was doing well, considering she’d threatened him with a gun. She’d offer him some money, though he’d probably never forget this day.
Five minutes went by, cars passing them and being passed in return, before they made it to the exit she’d requested.
“Pull over at the end of the ramp,” she instructed him in a low tone. Her shoulder was numb, her abdomen cramping, and her left leg was burning. Jesus, what kind of people did Joseph have working for him? Willing to kill themselves for an objective?
She snorted. He had people like Remi working for him. Enough said. The driver stopped as she’d instructed him. Probably the sight of her gun resting on her leg imbued his acquiescence.
“Get out,” she ordered.
He looked at her like she’d grown another head. She leveled the gun at his face.
“I don’t want to shoot you. I don’t know you. Tell me, are you a good man?” she asked softly.
His gaze roamed frantically, searching for a way out of the situation. He didn’t move a muscle.
She cocked her head again, brows lowering as confusion swamped her. His face wavered in her vision and she shook her head to clear it. Get it together, Remi. Keep it together. You’re almost out of this.
“Are you a good man?” she asked again, pushing the gun flush against his nose now. His pupils widened as he looked left and nodded. “Then get out now, so I don’t have to shoot a good man.”
He reached for the handle and scrambled out of the car. She carefully moved into the seat he’d vacated, wincing at the pain that slashed and bit at her. The man was running through the intersection, total chicken with his head cut off, but the image didn’t make her smile. Red hot twinges threaded through her left side. Nothing about this cluster-fuck was funny.
A horn blared behind her and she looked up. They’d stopped at a light, and it was now green. She reached into her bag, pulled out a pressure syringe, and slammed it home into her right thigh. Immediate, soothing warmth spread through her body. She threw the syringe aside, put the car in gear, and stepped on the accelerator.
She had to get to north. If she could get to the border, she’d be home free. She had to turn around, head north instead of the south they’d been traveling toward Sea-Tac Airport. This was going to take her right by the accident she’d just fled from. Dangerous, but not impossible. She had to ditch this vehicle, though.
Ahead she spied a grocery store and pulled in. Plans formed in her brain, became mixed up in the pain, but finally settled. She needed a different vehicle. She located what she thought was the employee parking lot and glanced at her watch. It was just after four in the afternoon. She’d have to take someone’s car and leave this one in its place.
She found a Ford Escape, though make and model were irrelevant at this point. She just needed to get gone. It was about a two to two and half hour drive to the Canadian border. She’d have to deal with the issue of border patrol once she made it there but right now it was the least of her concerns. She checked her surroundings and made the exchange of cars with ease.
Remi hated stealing. And wasn’t that ironic? What was stealing compared to the taking of a life? She felt bad for a split second as she popped the lock on the Ford. Blood trickled down her arm and Remi let her regret slide away with it. Some things were unavoidable when you were running. She got the vehicle started, pulled her hair into a bun, shoulder screaming in pain, and tried to tidy herself up a bit. Task done to the best of her ability, she pulled away. She was a mess, but if nobody looked close, she’d be fine.
An insidious thought slithered through her brain. This had really gone to hell in a handbasket. Joseph’d had a second person in place. She wondered if he’d always had a backup on her every mission. It made sense. He had to know she’d end up blowing sky high. After all, he’d created the time bomb she was.
She shook her head, pushed away the fog from the medicine in the syringe, turned back onto Interstate 5, and headed north. She was safe for the moment, though by now the man she’d high-jacked had probably contacted the police.
Traffic continued to move easily, not affected by the mess of the accident she’d left. She didn’t even glance at the smoking wreckage as she passed, just kept her eyes forward. Within two hours she
was entering the city limits of Blaine, Washington.
It was dark now and still raining. Eyes heavy, she had no choice but to stop and re-evaluate her next move. A sign for the Blaine Marina made her breath catch. There was her answer. She located the marina and circled back. She had to leave the car somewhere inconspicuous, so she found another grocery store. She spotted a van and decided it was her best bet for switching plates. It wouldn’t stop detection for long, but it may give her enough of a lead to rest and then disappear.
Switching the plates was arduous work; her shoulder and arm had long since gone numb, and her fingers didn’t want to function. She was still wearing a long skirt from when she’d fled the Smith Tower, but she ripped it, unwilling to allow it to slow her down. Her breath misted white in the damp cold. Finally, mission accomplished, she located another vehicle, grabbed her things, and popped the lock.
It was an old Chevy Corsica that’d definitely seen better days. She had difficulty getting it to start. “Come on, baby, you can do this.” It must’ve enjoyed the way she spoke to it because it finally cranked and she pulled out.
She made it to the marina, and within moments bypassed the security guard, who was too busy talking on the phone to do his job. She found a boat that looked abandoned and set up shop. This time of year, most boats were docked. The interior had no food, but there was no time to dwell on that. She needed to stitch herself up and rest. Food could come later.
Tomorrow, she’d borrow the boat and flee north. She pulled a Sat phone out of her bag, placed it on the counter of the galley, and began removing her clothes.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark with ease. The boat rocked beneath her feet, and the smell of the salt water surrounding her caused a pang to slice through her.
She’d come a hundred miles, but there was always one more to go. Pushing thoughts of the past behind her, she capped them in her mental lockbox and set about cleaning her wounds. Her shoulder was bruised to hell and back; so was her thigh. There was a slight burn on the same thigh, but it was nothing to worry about. Her hands were raw and she had a bump on her head. She felt behind her right ear and breathed a sigh of relief. It was still there. She didn’t have much time.
Rand Beckett was going to come for her sooner or later and she had one more move to make before she could hide. One more piece to put in place before she could meet with the others.
Chapter Three
The woman had thrown Rand. It had been a while since he’d lost himself in a woman’s eyes, but that’s just what he’d done earlier. The light blue of her orbs with that dark ebony ring around the pupil had sucked away his mind, replacing it with a driving need to hunt her down and find out just what the hell she was doing blowing a man to smithereens.
And he didn’t want to remember what her voice had done to his chest, the ache that had set up when she whispered, “You shouldn’t have done that.” He’d never responded to Lily that way. Never.
He wanted to punch something but instead rubbed the back of his neck as he gazed out at the dark Seattle sky. He’d lost his mind momentarily over a stone-cold killer. What the fuck?
He’d gone deeper into Donnie Parker’s background and discovered something that’d made the blood freeze in his veins. Parker’d had a history with the Bangcock Trading Company. Human slavers and opium dealers, Parker had managed to hide his dirty secret pretty damn well. How had they missed this?
“Davies sends his apologies,” Ken Nodachi said from his place at the room’s desk.
Rand grunted. “Tell Davies to shove his apology up his ass. He knows goddamn good and well we don’t align with slavers and drug runners. What the fuck, Ken?”
Ken shrugged. “Parker got lucky because it damn sure wasn’t skill that hid his past. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? His brain’s been spread all over the cement outside.”
Someone knocked on the door, and it opened slowly. Rand had drawn his gun before the knock finished. He glanced at Ken, noticed he’d done the same, and they waited.
“Mr. Beckett, I’m Sergeant Kohlman with the Seattle PD. Sir, we’re going to put the full force of the department behind this crime, I assure you. For now, our techs have gathered everything they’ll need, and the body’s been transported to the coroner’s office. I know we have all of your information, so we’ll be contacting you soon. Unless there’s any other information you feel we need, my men and I will be leaving.” The man stood tall in the doorway.
Rand nodded his dismissal. Ken spoke up and walked the Sergeant out of the room. His best friend had always been better at dealing with people. Rand was the doer. Ken was the thinker. Not that they weren’t both dangerous men, Ken just had a better way with political correctness than Rand did.
A flash of blue outside the window drew his attention, and he was reminded of the clear blue of the sky at dawn—and her eyes. He pressed two fingers against his own and cursed.
He had to find her.
Ken returned, speaking into his phone. Several moments passed, and his friend calling his name drew Rand’s attention.
“Where the fuck are you, man?” Ken demanded of Rand.
“Right here,” he sighed and wiped a hand across his face. Ken handed him a snifter of amber liquid Rand downed in one gulp, relishing the burn of the whiskey as it chased his bizarre musings away. He shouldn’t be thinking about her eyes or her voice or the silky cream of her calf . . .
“Adam found a broken down cell phone two blocks west of Smith Tower. We think it’s hers, but Daniel is analyzing trying to see if it can be pieced back together.”
“I’ll be surprised if we get anything off it. You didn’t see her, man. Calm, cool, and collected. She was a pro all the way.” Rand looked back out the window, drawn to the darkness.
Where was she? When would she strike next? She’d told him to duck, but surely a low level BTC operative, like Parker apparently had been, wasn’t worth an assassination? Surely, it had been Rand himself who was the target? If that was the case, the sniper had gone off-target and was rogue. And that made zero sense.
“Do you think it’s them?” Ken’s voice was full of all the things Rand himself was holding back: rage, pain, loss.
Rand nodded wearily. His hand clenched and he rubbed his chest, the familiar ache that was always present there, sharpening for a moment, even after seven years. He had a feeling if he could find the sniper, he’d have a dead on shot at Joseph Bombardier and The Collective.
“A cabbie was found shot to death, hole-to-the-head style, near where the phone was found. A short time later, there was a wreck on the I-5 and a woman fitting the description you gave me was seen leaving the scene, struggling to stay upright but very much alive, carrying an umbrella and a large bag. She carjacked a man, let him go and must have taken another car later on. Does her description sound familiar?” Ken asked, his gaze pinning Rand to the spot.
“It’s her. I’m guessing no leads after that?” He asked the questions but already knew the answer.
Ken shook his head.
“She’s going to head north. It’s what I’d do. She’ll go off-grid. I have to catch her within the next ten hours or I won’t catch her at all,” Rand informed his best friend.
Ken had been first a best friend, then a brother-in-law, and now a brother in loss. He knew Rand as well as anyone had ever known him with the exception of Lily, but not everything. Neither of them had ever known everything. He had no idea the lengths Rand would go to in an effort to bring the ones who’d killed his wife and daughter to justice. And in this case, justice was cold, hard death.
This was as close as Rand had ever been. He felt it in his bones. Rock solid certainty had formed as he’d looked into eyes the color of blue crystal today.
She was the key to his vengeance.
“Why north?” Ken asked as he poured them both another snifter of whiskey.
“Too much heat here. I need Daniel checking all points north, see if there’re any reports of stolen vehicles. She may head
to the water. Have him check all marinas between here and Canada for suspicious activity.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew that’s what he’d do. Stay close to the water because if she had to flee farther north, there were no border checkpoints in the ocean. She’d make it with ease.
“I’ll have him check. Here,” Ken said and thrust the snifter into Rand’s grasp. “Drink this and relax. I’ll get Daniel started.”
An hour later and Daniel had given him gold. A vehicle had been pulled over; the tags had been registered to a car reported stolen from Seattle proper earlier today. The payoff with this information was that there was a marina not two miles from where the person who’d been pulled over worked.
“That’s it,” Rand said, excitement streaming through his blood. “She’s there. You know what? Don’t alert the marina. Let’s keep this quiet for now. Let me see if I can find her first.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No. I’m going alone. Two of us in one place would be their jackpot.” Rand turned to leave.
“Take Adam with you,” Ken urged.
“Alone, Ken. I can’t risk this and I work better alone, you know it.”
Silence met his statement, but there was nothing to be done for Ken’s concerns. The Collective had taken too much from them both. This was Rand’s opportunity, and he was all over it.
“If you find her, don’t kill her,” Ken cautioned.
“She won’t get that lucky,” Rand bit out, images of his wife and daughter lifeless on the floor of their home spearing his brain. He rubbed his chest again, drew in enough air that the room didn’t swim around him. He walked to the door and looked over his shoulder at the man who’d gone through hell with him.
“We’ll get Joseph,” he said and watched sorrow break over Ken’s face.
The other man nodded. “We’ll kill them all.”
Two hours later, still surrounded by darkness, prickling drops of rain continued to fall from a frozen sky, pelting Rand with an icy kiss. The ocean stroked the edges of the dock, lapping greedily at the boards he walked over. He’d narrowed the search to the line of boats halfway down the dock. All of the boats were abandoned this time of year, so there were no lights to indicate activity. She was too smart for that.
