by Dee Davis
Tyler’s heart jumped to her throat as her eyes met Owen’s. He signaled that he’d go first, and she nodded, lifting her gun to cover him. As they swung into the foyer, she forced herself to focus on the moment. She wouldn’t be of any use to anyone if she let her imagination get the better of her.
The foyer ran the length of the front of the house, with the living room opening off to the right, and the dining room to left. The doors to the dining room were closed, but the living room was open. With their backs to the wall, they moved toward the doorway, swinging together through the opening into the room. It was empty.
“Clear,” Tyler whispered, her heart thudding against her chest. There was no other entrance to the room, so they backtracked, this time flanking the door to the dining room.
“On three,” Owen mouthed.
Tyler nodded, hand on the doorknob, waiting as he silently counted down. Then with a turn of her wrist, she pushed the door open, using it as a shield as she moved into the room. The large dining room table sat in the middle, its polished veneer reflecting the empty room.
“There’s no one here,” Tyler said, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “The kitchen’s through there.” She nodded to a swinging door in the rear wall. They walked forward, moving in tandem, and again, on the count of three pushed through the door into the sunny yellow kitchen.
Della’s favorite color.
At first Tyler thought it was empty. But there were signs of a struggle—a broken plate on the floor and a half-empty cup of coffee teetering dangerously on the edge of the counter.
“Tyler.”
Owen’s tone froze her blood, and she turned slowly, her heart twisting. Della lay in the breakfast room where she’d fallen, a second plate still clutched in her hand, her favorite pearls glowing white against her blood-splattered skin. Her eyes were wide with surprise and fear.
“Is she…”
Owen nodded, reaching down to gently close her eyes.
“Oh, God.” Tyler’s stomach threatened revolt. She took a step toward Della, and then froze, her thoughts turning to her father. “He’s probably upstairs,” she whispered, still staring at her stepmother. “In his office.”
She turned to Owen, and he nodded at her unspoken question, urgency suddenly pushing her back into the foyer. She took the stairs two at a time, heedless now of making noise, Owen right behind her. When she reached the landing she strained for some sign that someone was here, but the hallway was silent, the only sound the plaintive call of a blue jay outside the hallway’s open window.
She raced past the bedrooms, skidding to a stop outside her father’s office door. He was stretched out across the desk, one arm hanging over the edge, the other reaching below it, most probably for his gun. The papers beneath him were soaked with his blood.
“Daddy,” she screamed as she sprinted across the room, her only thought to get to him, to pull him back to life. She leaned down, reaching for a pulse, as Owen entered the room. “I can’t find it.” She forced herself to breathe, using her fingers against his wrist. His skin was cold. “Oh, God, Owen, help me.”
He pushed her away, his fingers against the artery in her father’s throat. “It’s here. It’s thready, but it’s here,” he said, his jaw tight with anger. “Call 911.”
She nodded, whipping the phone from her pocket, fumbling as she tried to dial the numbers, her fingers shaking uncontrollably.
Owen released her father and grabbed the phone. Tyler sucked in a breath, ignoring the blood as she carefully turned her father over. His face was ashen, his lips going blue. She’d seen enough gunshot wounds to know that they were battling against time. Grabbing a sweater from the back of his chair, she wadded it into a ball, pressing it against the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.
“The police are on their way. And they’re sending an ambulance,” Owen said, his tone wonderfully calm. “Where does your father keep the medical supplies?”
Tyler sucked in a breath, forcing herself to find the words. “In the bathroom. Last door on the right, just before the stairs.” She turned back to her father, the sweater now soaked with his blood. “Dad, can you hear me?”
His eyes remained closed, but she could feel his breathing now. Shallow and fast. His hands were white, the blue veins gnarled with time. The liver spots on his hands seemed so familiar, the progression of old age unnoticed as the years had gone by. But now she realized just how fragile he’d become. “Come on, Dad,” she urged. “Fight. Come back to me.”
Owen arrived carrying towels and bandages. “I wasn’t sure what you’d need exactly. The medicine cabinet didn’t run to sutures.” The wail of sirens echoed through the air.
“Just the towels, I think. I need to keep pressure on the wound until the EMTs get here.”
Owen handed her a neatly folded towel, and she replaced the sweater, pressing down with every ounce of strength she could find.
“Tyler,” her father moaned, his voice barely more than a strangled whisper. “Is that you?”
“It’s me, Daddy. I’m here. You just hang on. We’re going to get you to the hospital.”
Her father’s hand closed around hers, his fingers tightening as he struggled to say something.
“Just stay quiet,” she said, leaning down so that he could see her. “You need to save your strength.”
He shook his head, his breath coming in rasps. “Need to tell you…”
“It can wait until we get you to the hospital. I’m not going anywhere.”
“No.” The word was forceful this time, his faded blue eyes meeting hers. “Can’t wait.” He opened his mouth, but closed it again, confusion and pain taking over.
“It’s all right. Just rest,” she said, grateful to hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “They’ll be here any second.”
His fingers fluttered against hers, and then with obvious effort he pulled her closer. “Winter…” he whispered, the effort clearly costing him. “India… winter.”
“There’s been no further word.” Owen spoke into his cell, as he walked through the sliding glass doors. “I’m just at hospital now. The general is still in surgery. I’m on my way to find Tyler.”
“So what did the police say?” Logan Palmer asked. Owen had already been through everything with Avery, but he knew that he had to tell it all again. The attack on the general would be major news. Which was just exactly what they didn’t need. Still, there was time for damage control.
“They basically confirmed what I’d already surmised. Someone broke into the house and tried to kill the general, taking his wife out in the process. It’s possible that our arrival is what kept the general alive, although I don’t have any evidence to back that up.”
“So what? You’re thinking a robbery?”
“I wish I could say so, sir. It would make it all that much easier. But there was nothing missing. At least nothing that we could find. I’ll need Tyler to confirm it.”
“Maybe you did interrupt things.”
“I don’t think so. At least not a robbery. This has all the markings of an orchestrated killing. Someone wanted the general dead. Which, considering that he seems to have been at the epicenter of all of this, makes total sense. And it dovetails nicely with the attack on Tyler at the garage.”
“Except that there’s at least some evidence supporting the idea that Petrov’s attack stemmed from the Colombian affair.”
“At this point I can’t say.”
“Which is exactly the problem,” Logan sighed. “How did Tyler react?”
“Pretty much as you’d expect. She was devastated.” He clenched his hand, still seeing the horror on her face.
“I thought you said she wasn’t close with her father.”
“She wasn’t particularly. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. Whatever her degree of involvement, she definitely wasn’t expecting to find her father dead. And judging from her reaction when we found out, I don’t think she knew anythi
ng about his involvement with the request for A-Tac to be a part of the detonator transfer either.”
“Or maybe,” Logan was saying, “she’s playing you.”
“And the rest of her team? I suppose it’s possible, but it doesn’t seem in character.”
“What the hell would you know about her character? You’ve only known the woman a few days. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Owen swallowed, the question catching him by surprise. “Of course not. You know as well as I do that we’re trained in this business to make a quick study of character. I’m just giving you my initial impressions. That’s what you pay me for, right?”
“I pay you to find answers. Someone at A-Tac is guilty—and considering the general’s involvement, the most likely suspect is still Tyler. And I don’t need to remind you how important it is that we succeed in this investigation. If we can identify the traitors within A-Tac it’s going to go a hell of a long way toward legitimizing our department. Congress gave us the power to investigate whomever we please, but respect has to be earned. And I want that respect. So no one is exempt from suspicion until we’ve got solid evidence proving them innocent. And that doesn’t leave room for sentiment. Am I making myself clear?”
“Crystal,” Owen snapped, not certain exactly why he was angry.
“So, did the general say anything?” Logan asked, shifting the conversation.
“Nothing that made any sense,” Owen said, shaking his head as he forced himself to focus. “I think maybe he was trying to tell Tyler something, but if he was, he didn’t succeed.”
“How do you know for certain?” Logan asked. “Maybe she’s just not telling you.”
He’d considered the possibility, but dismissed it. She’d been too shaken to lie. And she’d also desperately wanted to make sense of his words. Unfortunately, there was no rhyme or reason.
“She’s telling me the truth. But I’ll ask her more about it later. And maybe when her father’s out of surgery, he can explain it himself.”
“Among other things,” Logan’s voice was devoid of emotion, but Owen knew him well enough to decipher his frustration. “What are the old man’s chances?”
“I’m not sure. I do know it’s touch and go. He’s lost a lot of blood. And as you said, he’s old. Not a great combination. But Tyler says he’s a fighter.”
“Just seems odd to me that he’d still pull enough weight to get the CIA to fall into line with an unauthorized request. The man’s retired, after all.”
“Yes, but he’s a decorated veteran of three wars. Not to mention several high-ranking positions with the Pentagon. That’s got to translate to some serious political capital after all these years. And it’s my understanding that Avery Solomon served under the man twice.”
“And what did he have to say about the revelation of General Hanson’s involvement?”
“Just that he must have had a good reason to pull rank.” Owen smiled, thinking of Avery’s stern reaction. It was clear that he admired Tyler’s father.
“Or maybe he’s in this up to his neck as well. Wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake.”
“You make this sound like it’s personal.”
“I don’t like the man—I’ll admit it. But for now that’s all you need to know. Anyway, what did the rest of the team have to say when you told them about the attack on the general?”
“They were concerned about Tyler. I told you they’re a tight-knit group. Tyler is one of their own, and so, by extension, is the general. They’re looking to tie the attack into what happened to the detonators, especially given the fact that her father seems to have instigated A-Tac’s involvement. But they’ve got the same number of leads we do. Which for the moment doesn’t add up to much.” He stopped outside the elevator bank.
“So what are your impressions of the other team members?” Logan asked. “Anyone else besides Avery or Tyler stick out as a possible suspect?”
“I’ve only really had the chance to interact with Nash and Hannah. And for my money they’re not the double-dealing type. And despite your obvious history with the man, Avery Solomon doesn’t strike me as the turn-on-his-country type. More important, he’d never put Tyler in harm’s way.”
“So maybe they’re in it together. We said it could be more than one of them. So what about the rest of the team?”
“It’s too early for me to tell. But Harrison’s in place, and he’ll have a chance for more direct observation.”
“Not to mention a little technical eavesdropping. It’s amazing how much you can learn about people if you can access their computers.”
“Speaking of which,” Owen said, “I have the general’s computer. I told the locals it was crucial to our operation. Figured if there was anything on it, we’d want first crack.”
“Good work,” his boss said.
“I don’t have to tell you, Logan, that this whole thing is leaving a bad taste in my mouth.”
“Nature of the beast, I’m afraid. But you knew what you were signing on to when you came to work for me. So you just swallow your discomfort and do your job. If they know what you’re really up to, they’ll clam up. Shut you out. Even if they’re innocent. There’s no love lost between the NSA and the CIA, believe me.”
Particularly not when it came to divisions that spied on spies. But Owen held his tongue. The best way to get to the bottom of everything was for him to keep his eye on the ball. He needed this job. It had been his last chance. And Logan was right, Owen couldn’t afford to let sentiment get in the way of his finding the truth. Especially when it came to Tyler.
“Look, Logan, I’ve got to go now. The elevator’s here and they don’t allow cell phones on the upper floors.” As if to underscore the fact, an exiting nurse pointed to the cell and shook her head.
“Fine. But keep in touch.”
“I will.” Owen disconnected and slipped the phone back into his pocket as he hit the number for the floor where Tyler was waiting. The elevator jerked to life, and Owen stared up at the changing floor numbers, his mind spinning as he tried to assemble the puzzle pieces, hating the idea that everything still seemed to point to Tyler—or, at the very least, her father.
The doors slid open and he stepped out into the corridor, following the signs pointing to the waiting room. He loathed hospitals. The smell, the sterile environment—it all reminded him of death. He prayed that Tyler’s father was in good hands and that there was still a chance. The man had clearly been close to dying. Owen had seen death enough times to recognize the signs.
He closed his eyes, summoning inner strength, banishing his memories of that awful morning in London—the high-pitched wail of the sirens, the haggard attempts to resuscitate what was already gone.
It was all in the past.
And Tyler needed him now.
The thought surprised him. Not so much for the logic—which he’d certainly entertained before—but for the power of the emotion accompanying the desire. He blew out a breath, clearing his mind. This wasn’t the time for contemplation.
“Owen.”
Following the sound of his name, he turned into the waiting room. She was sitting on the edge of a rickety chair, her hands gripping the arms so tightly he thought she might break them.
“Is there any news?” he asked, crossing to her, resisting the desire to pull her into his arms. She was holding on by a thread, and she wouldn’t appreciate the show of emotion. He knew because he’d been there.
“Nothing yet. It’s been almost two hours.”
“These things can take time. You know that yourself. You’ve been through it.”
“Yes, but when you’re the patient you don’t remember any of it, really. At least until after the fact.” She rubbed her hand across her shirt and the scar it concealed. “I’m just so afraid.”
“I know. But there’s nothing you can do except wait.”
“And try to figure out who did this,” she said, pushing to her feet, her arms crossed as she
walked over to the window. “Did you find anything new?”
“No. Pretty much just what I told you on the phone. Does he have any enemies?”
“Thousands probably, if you count all the people he fought against. But that’s not the kind of thing that promotes revenge. And he was—is—an honorable man. I can’t imagine someone wanting to kill him.”
“Unless he’s mixed up in all this somehow. Maybe they were afraid he was going to talk.”
“I’ve told you my dad doesn’t have the mental acuity to have been a part of it. At least anything substantial.”
“Well he was definitely the one who made the request for A-Tac’s involvement. Hannah has proof.”
“It could have been someone using his name. Or maybe somehow, someone he knew pulled him into it. And even then it still could be totally innocent. If he did do it, maybe he had a sound reason for wanting my involvement—something that has nothing whatsoever to do with the theft.”
“Or maybe he wasn’t in his right mind. I know it’s an awful suggestion but…”
“I’ve thought about that.” She nodded. “But I’ve no idea where to begin looking.”
“Have you had a chance to think about what he was trying to say?”
“I’ve thought of pretty much nothing else,” she said, turning around to face him. “But it just doesn’t make sense. India winter? Is he talking about the Himalayas? Abnormal weather? Hell, for all we know it was just gibberish. Sometimes stress triggers the Alzheimer’s.”
“And there’s nothing more stressful than being shot,” Owen said, sitting down on one of the chairs. “Still, your father was a methodical man, right? By the books, one step at a time.”
“How would you know that?”
“Because you said as much. Besides, given his military background, it follows. So, am I right?”
“Yes.” She frowned, but came over to sit beside him. “But I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Well, just that maybe even when his mind fritzes out he’s still trying to be logical. So maybe the words make more sense than we realize. Maybe they’re associated with something.”
