by Debra Webb
Orders or not, there was no way he would sit back and allow open season on Director Casey to go unanswered. The man had done too much for Jason, personally and professionally.
He turned up the volume on his phone and opened the police scanner app in case they got into some new trouble.
The director was more than a boss or mentor; the man never asked his Specialists to do more than he himself was ready to do. Lessons and memories flashed through his mind as he battled the weather to get back across town.
Nearing the airport, he dialed DeRossi’s hotel and asked for her room number. When no one picked up, he ended the call and then dialed her official cell number. That call went straight to voice mail and Jason hoped it meant his search of her room wouldn’t get interrupted.
He found a parking space that afforded a quick exit if necessary and braced for the long walk through the bitter weather. Cold and wet, the warmth of the lobby was a welcome relief. He brushed the snow from his hair and rubbed the chill from his hands as he strolled toward the main elevators. He pressed the button for the floor above DeRossi’s and, knowing how to blend in, he chatted about the unexpected weather with the other guests who boarded the car.
When the elevator stopped at his floor, he exited and deliberately took the long way around toward the stairwell nearest the service areas. It took him a few minutes, but he found a maid with her cart and gave a room number. He sweet-talked her out of extra towels, while pocketing her key card, then headed for the stairs.
Down one flight, towels under his arm, he moved quickly to DeRossi’s room. He knocked, paused, then swiped the card through the reader.
His gaze swept the room, taking in details with one swift glance. She’d left clothes on hangers, and the luggage rack was out, but there wasn’t any luggage in the room. He spotted a cell phone charger in the outlet by the desk, but the tablet he’d seen her use at lunch yesterday wasn’t here. Everything pointed to her intention to return, so he quickly searched for any clues about why she had intercepted the director.
“What do you know that I don’t?” He whispered the question into the empty room as he opened drawers, peeked under both mattresses and searched in and around the mini fridge and microwave.
Finding two wigs explained how she’d slipped by him, and it made him feel all the more determined to find something relevant now.
He paused, hands on hips, feeling every second tick by. Holt wanted to know what DeRossi knew and Jason couldn’t imagine admitting another failure today. The main area of the room was clean so he moved toward the bathroom and vanity, mentally crossing his fingers he’d find something to report.
All of the places he would have hidden something vital were empty. He worried someone might have beaten him to the search, but the room was so clean there was no way to tell. The stunning redhead he’d run into twice already popped into his mind and he pulled a penlight out of his inner pocket. Turning it on, he scanned the room for any sign of her, but came up empty. Jason shook his head. Finding a stray red hair was a long shot and he had to quit following tangents and find something worthwhile for Holt.
He knelt down and peered at the underside of the sink and swore at the flap of tape hanging down.
Surely there had been a more infuriating assignment in his past, but he was hard pressed to remember it right now. He stood up, searched the pockets of the clothing she’d left behind, but there was nothing.
DeRossi had proven more of a challenge than he’d anticipated, and it only put his instincts on high alert. The cosmetic case on the vanity was the only item left he hadn’t examined and, with hope dwindling, he poked through it.
Beauty tools, small pots and tubes in various colors and a fabric headband did nothing to shed light on her purpose with the director.
He was running out of time. Any minute the maid would report her key card missing and a few basic questions would have the security team searching for him.
Frustrated, he checked his reflection in the mirror, tucked away the penlight and smoothed his suit jacket. What had he expected? A detailed outline of her plans signed by DeRossi lying on the desk?
He was reaching for the door when it hit him. Turning back to the vanity, he went through the cosmetic case once more, confirming what wasn’t there. No toothbrush or toothpaste.
“Well, well.”
She might have a reservation for this room through Monday, but she had something else planned between now and then.
The second examination of the cosmetic bag proved more valuable as he spotted a tube he’d assumed was just a different brand from the rest of her cosmetics. No, this wasn’t a lipstick, it was a flash drive.
He might not know exactly where she was going, but he was finally getting somewhere. Provided this wasn’t just a collection of her favorite photos. And it was a relief to know he wouldn’t be wasting time loitering in the lobby for her return.
Re-energized, he glanced through the peephole. Seeing no activity in the hall, he pulled the door open a crack and then slipped out. Keeping his head down, he walked toward the opposite stairwell and dropped the key card on his way back down to the lobby.
He reached his rental car without incident and cranked the heater as he called Holt to bring him up to speed.
“Did you find DeRossi and the director?” Holt demanded.
“Not yet, but I know where she isn’t.”
“Meaning?”
He thought of the flash drive, but didn’t want to mention it until he knew it mattered. “Her room is clean, but she’s not planning to be back tonight.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Jason hoped he wouldn’t have to explain his certainty.
“Any sign of the problem child?”
“Maybe.” For some inexplicable reason, Jason hesitated to mention the explosion or that he’d spotted the redhead there. This was Holt, his boss, trusted as Thomas Casey’s second-in-command for years. “DeRossi had a rental car stashed in long-term parking. It was blown up a couple of hours ago. No casualties,” he added before Holt could ask.
“Any clues?”
“Nothing substantial yet.”
“Stay on it and stay alert.”
The line went dead and Jason stared at it for a long moment, a part of him wishing he hadn’t passed along that much information.
Something felt off and he just hadn’t been able to put his finger on it just yet.
He called around until he found a motel with a vacancy on the west side of town. It was his third room in as many nights and he experienced the rare sensation of wishing for some stability.
As a Specialist his stability was the team, not the location. Sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row had never been that important to him. This was the wrong time to be thinking of anything other than the enigma that was this case.
It took him twice as long as it should have to reach the place and Jason was thrilled to finally be out of the car. He tossed his bag on the bed and set his laptop on the desk, turning it on. While it booted up, he put the frozen pizza he’d picked up from the kiosk in the lobby in the microwave. Before he left town he vowed to have a thick steak at the best steak house in the city.
He was about to put the flash drive in the port when his cell phone rang. He waited for the second ring to display the caller’s information, but the unknown number icon flashed on the screen along with a local area code. “Jason Grant.”
“It’s Casey.”
Adrenaline fired in his veins. “Sir. Are you safe?”
“For the moment, but I haven’t reached the resort yet. Agent DeRossi needed to ask me a few questions away from the office.”
Jason actively listened for any distress in the director’s voice, any clues to his location. It was a relief he sounded at ease, if not relaxed, but he would have preferred some direction.
“Sir, I’ve been ordered—”
“I’m changing your orders. I need you to pull an immediate background check with last known lo
cation and contact on a criminal known as Whelan. Off the record.”
Jason wanted to explain his current assignment and give the director some warning but it would have to wait. “Should I report back at this number?”
“No. Send it on to Lucas Camp. He’s at the lodge with the wedding party.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll explain later. This information is only for Mr. Camp.”
Jason promised, and surprisingly the director thanked him before ending the call. He was used to Holt’s more abrupt style of barking an order and hanging up before anyone had a chance to ask a question.
Tempted as he was by the flash drive, Jason worked on Whelan’s background first. Being a Specialist gave him access to several databases that didn’t officially exist, but going through normal channels meant someone would know he’d been poking around.
He didn’t think that’s what the director had in mind. Whelan was widely known throughout the intelligence community as a creative genius with all things that could catch fire or go boom. He was also known for selling his skills to the highest bidder and he regularly evaded custody and prosecution for his destructive and usually lethal devices.
Jason had only bumped into his work once before. Twice if he counted this afternoon. Assuming the director’s inquiry meant he thought Whelan was behind the explosion at the airport parking lot.
Fortunately, he still had discreet friends who could help him learn what Casey needed to know. He winced as he checked his watch and did the math, knowing he’d wake up Brian O’Marron, his pal he’d met during a short stint with Interpol.
He entered the number and waited for it to ring on the other side of the Atlantic. The motel phone would have been more secure, but O’Marron wouldn’t bother to answer an unknown caller at this hour. While Mission Recovery analysts might dump his phone logs if things fell apart on this assignment, Jason knew that would take some time. And if questioned, he could offer other valid reasons beyond the director’s concerns for making this call. With the phone to his ear, he rubbed his temples trying to get ahead of the tension headache he felt building behind his eyes. This was the safest of his limited options to get the information the director needed.
Provided O’Marron ever answered his damn phone.
After exchanging not-so-pleasant greetings considering the imposition of time, Jason explained his call. “There was an incident today with a car bomb at an American airport.”
“Denver,” O’Marron said. “I heard.”
“Then you’re saying he’s here?”
His friend went so quiet Jason thought the call had dropped. He held the phone out and verified he still had a signal.
“Were there fatalities?”
“No,” Jason replied.
“Then it’s bloody well not Whelan.”
O’Marron had a point. “Humor me. What do you know about his recent activity?”
“Did you catch the usual signature?”
“No, but it took me a few minutes to get to the scene and the blizzard could have masked that by the time I arrived.” The redhead came to mind again. “Has he picked up an apprentice or held a clinic lately?” They both knew he’d done both in the past. The man would do anything for cash.
“Level with me and maybe I’ll tell you.”
“Keep yanking me around and we’ll do this in person.”
“As if I can’t have you stopped, strip-searched and detained at the border.”
Jason laughed. His friend would be surprised when his stunt failed. Mission Recovery had unprecedented credentials and a variety of ways to circumvent that type of power play. “Hospitable as ever. Come on, help me out and I’ll owe you one.”
“You’re confident this is Whelan’s work?”
The fact that Director Casey thought so was enough of an endorsement for Jason. “Unless you have intel that says otherwise, yes, I think we can credit him with today’s incident.”
“Except no one died.”
“Come on, O’Marron.” Jason bit back the sharp retort. “If you can’t give me confirmation, give me something to rule him out. And hurry. I could lose the call any minute with this storm.”
“Whelan entered the States four weeks ago, escorted by American authorities.”
Which was O’Marron’s way of saying it could be anyone from the CIA to Homeland Security who’d extended an engraved invitation to Whelan.
“Where was he before that?”
“Germany, again, but he slipped our net.”
“Anything on recent associates?” Like a gorgeous redhead with a killer smirk? The signal popped and crackled, and O’Marron’s voice came through in fragments.
“...rumor about a contract...an American agent. Doesn’t...stock in that...said they met—”
Jason nearly threw the phone when it showed the signal had been lost. There were too many possible interpretations of those fragments. With a measured sigh he set the phone on the charger. O’Marron had given Jason more than he’d had before. Now he just had to get that information to Lucas Camp.
He turned on the television and scanned the local channels, all of which were reporting on the freak storm. The way this was unfolding, Jason would rather do this face-to-face, but there was no way he’d get up to the Glenstone Lodge tonight in a rented sedan without snow tires.
If the cell towers were out here, chances were good they weren’t working any better in the higher elevations. He picked up the room phone and heard a dial tone.
Hopeful, he drafted a quick note for Lucas, making it as secure as possible under the circumstances, and then he headed down to the front desk.
Chapter Eight
9:05 p.m.
Thomas struggled to ignore the knots in his shoulders and neck while he fought to keep the car on what he hoped was actually the roadway. His hands were cramping and though they weren’t going at much more than a crawl, the car’s back end kept fishtailing on the tight curves. Yeah, skis would have been the safer bet all around.
He knew Jo wanted answers. It would probably be best if he did open up. He should start with Whelan. Or let her know he’d called a Specialist for an assist. But he wasn’t inclined to share the facts about the virus as he currently knew them. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he knew anything helpful at all.
Within the offices that didn’t officially exist in Washington, he was known for having the intel before anyone else. How had he missed the rumors that prompted the Initiative to launch an investigation against him? He had plenty of enemies, that hadn’t been an exaggeration, but he had allies, too. Allies who should have given him some sort of warning this was on the horizon.
He made the last turn and the headlights swept across the snow-covered landscape, bouncing off the fresh blanket of white as he parked in front of the cabin that was their destination. He left the car running and stared through the windshield, weighing the options. It could be a trap, one designed by Jo, or Whelan, or a faceless enemy.
Could he really trust her? Would the smarter choice be to call in and give her as well as himself up?
In a career as blurred by gray-area choices as his had been, every decision came down to one fine point: Would he be able to look at himself in the mirror? This decision was no different, which quickly put an end to his internal debate. He extended his hand. “Give me the key and wait here.”
“We’ll go in together.”
“No.”
“I need you to trust me, Thomas.”
“Jo, I trust you as much as I trust anyone.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I know when you’re lying to me.”
He sighed. She’d always been perceptive and she had the added advantage of having seen him at his worst. Frankly, he was too tired to keep up the facade of a man unperturbed by explosions, gunmen and weather. “The key. Going first shows I trust you not to have something up there rigged to explode or otherwise ruin my night.”
“Again, hurting you would be counterproductive to keeping you alive,�
�� she grumbled, fishing the key out of her purse.
After giving him a long stare, she handed him the key and he carefully climbed out of the vehicle. The snowfall could very well be hiding trip wires—set by someone other than Jo.
He knew if she wanted him dead, she could have killed him a few different ways by now and saved herself from his increasing irritability. Whether she realized it yet or not, it looked to him like someone was undermining both of them.
Thinking about the phone number on the euro took him back. Way back. And the distinctive citrus scent at the explosion only confirmed his suspicions about Whelan’s involvement. Granted, he’d cost the explosives expert a small fortune five years ago, but there had to be a reason he’d make an attempt for revenge now.
The virus rumors, well, that was a bigger concern if the remnants of the Isely family were trying to get back in the bio-weapons game.
He looked around, wondering if they’d been followed. He hadn’t seen another car for the past hour, but it paid to be cautious. Behind the car, the snow was already filling in the tire marks. The storm might just help them survive the night. The trees surrounding the cabin were already bowing under the weight of the white covering and he imagined in other circumstances the scene might feel picturesque. In other circumstances they might be a couple on a romantic retreat, rather than two agents running for their lives.
When he reached the porch, he knelt down in the snow and examined each step in the wash of light from the headlights. He was tired and cold, but he ignored both in favor of handling this the right way.
The wind had already created small snowdrifts against the front door and windows. He hoped the owners stored basic tools and supplies for renters. The last thing he needed was to miss the rehearsal dinner because they were snowed in at a remote cabin without any way to communicate with Lucas, or more important, his niece and sister.
His niece was counting on him.
“I will make the wedding,” he vowed to the storm as he stood up and braced for the approach to the door.
