Agony lanced every bone in my body. But instinct forced me to my feet. The car’s bright backup lights kicked on. I pivoted on the balls of my feet, ran for the opposite sidewalk. I ducked behind a Jeep Grand Cherokee.
The car that had run me down shot off down the street. It was a silver sedan. But I didn’t get the make and I didn’t get the model. It screeched through a red light at the top of the block, leaving a chorus of blaring horns and squealing brakes in its wake. And just like that, it was gone.
“Jamie!” Ikaat ran to me, throttled me in what would have to pass for a teary hug.
“Are you okay?”
I turned, blinked at the clean-cut young man who’d spoken to me. Apparently, my automotive acrobatics had drawn all those congressional staffers who’d been on their way to drinks and dinner, and he was one of them. A number of his compatriots were already on their cell phones, no doubt calling the cops.
“We’re peachy,” I told him.
And we were.
Considering someone had just tried to kill us.
But “peachy” turned out to be an exaggeration. I’d used my broken wrist to break my fall. As a result, chunks of my cast rained from my coat sleeve like hailstones and my arm had gone numb to my shoulder blade.
Of course, I didn’t notice this at first. It took a Capitol Police officer to point out my broken arm-wear to me. He and his confederates had reached us in record time, thanks to all those staffers calling 911.
Two paramedics took charge of me. They treated me for shock, fitted me with a splint, and immobilized my arm in a sling.
And all the while, I had a ringside seat as all kinds of law enforcement appeared on the street and multiplied. Ikaat’s minders were among the first to show up. They whisked her off to the security of her monitored apartment. Plainclothes detectives from a variety of agencies conferred in knots while techs in white Tyvek suits spread out along the cobblestones. Choppers whooped overhead. I could see the blue beams of their searchlights snap on to whip in and out of the nooks and crannies of the Hill.
They might find evidence to lead them to the silver sedan I’d reported. But they wouldn’t find the driver. I knew they wouldn’t.
Still, I watched them try. Until Roger loped into my field of view. He made a beeline for me, bundled in a blanket in the back of an ambulance.
And Roger wasn’t alone.
Barrett’s face was as grim as the Reaper’s. But he cradled something gently in his hands. It looked an awful lot like one of my abandoned shoes.
“What happened?” Roger said.
“A silver sedan disagreed with me and Ikaat.”
“You didn’t see the driver?”
“Of course I did. We’re meeting for drinks when I’m done here.”
Roger held up his hands as if I had him at gunpoint.
“Sorry,” I said, and I meant it. But I hurt all over, I was scared for my arm, and I was considerably less than comfortable knowing someone thought so highly of me and my friend the physicist that they wanted to see us dead.
Roger said, “Who knew you were meeting Dr. Oujdad?”
“It wasn’t planned. I ran into her when Katie deMarco let her out of her cage for some impromptu sightseeing.”
“Who knew you were coming to visit the Senator?”
“I don’t know. Who did you tell?”
Roger and Barrett exchanged looks. Some kind of message telegraphed between them. I couldn’t read it—and that got me worried.
My hand strayed to the new sapphire at my throat and stayed there. “Is my father all right?”
“The Senator’s fine.” But Roger was pale under his late-summer tan. “Given the circumstances, however, he’s been moved to a safe location.”
“What circumstances?” I demanded, scared now.
Roger didn’t answer.
Likewise, Barrett said nothing.
And my patience was past gone.
“What”—I spat—“circumstances?”
“Well, as you know, the Senator’s been deeply involved in the extremely delicate negotiation regarding Doctor Oujdad over the course of several months, and there are some foreign powers who haven’t appreciated his position—”
“Stop talking like a damn politician, Roger.”
He scrubbed nervous fingers over his five o’clock shadow. “More than one government wanted Ikaat Oujdad under their thumb. You and the Senator brought her to Washington instead.”
“In other words,” I said, “Ikaat’s a target. Because a dead physicist can’t help the U.S. And I’m a target, too. Because I helped her get here.”
“That,” Roger replied, “about sums it up.”
Chapter 26
“If we’re on some kind of hit list,” I insisted, “we’re not the only ones. You’ve got to protect Katie deMarco.”
“We will,” Roger assured me, “when we find her.”
“Find her?”
“Seeing Dr. Oujdad to the safe house was her last duty today. When the report of the attack came in, State requested Arlington police check Ms. deMarco’s apartment in Ballston. She didn’t answer her door. Her car wasn’t parked in its slot, and she hasn’t answered her cell phone.”
“She could’ve stopped for dinner somewhere.”
“She could’ve,” Roger agreed, “but at this point, we don’t know for sure.”
Well, I knew I’d feel better when we did.
“We won’t give up on her,” Roger promised. “You take care of that arm. I’ll contact you the moment we hear from her.”
That sounded good to me.
Except for one pesky detail.
I said, “I’m not going to hitch a ride in the back of this ambulance. Not if some foreign operative is truly gunning for me. Trundling around town in this thing, I’d be a sitting duck.”
“Barrett will drive you,” Roger said.
That’s when Barrett offered my forgotten shoe. He grasped my ankle in his strong, sure hand. And slipped the shoe onto my foot like some kind of postmodern Prince Charming.
I bit back the urge to point out the shoe’s mate was still missing.
Without a word, Barrett helped me from the gurney. He steered me toward a waiting car that smacked of FBI fleet sedan. Roger probably wished me well, but I didn’t hear him. All I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears. And a crime-scene tech when he caught up with us.
“Sir, this has been cleared,” he said, offering something to Barrett, “and it’s ringing.”
Buzzing was a more accurate description.
Because the thing was.
It was my cell phone. I must’ve dropped it when the car bore down on me and Ikaat. But the leather case Philip bought me had protected it beautifully.
Now, it lay flat on Barrett’s palm, humming to beat the band. And the caller ID blazed with one name and one name only. That name belonged to Philip Spencer-Dean.
Before I could pluck the phone from Barrett’s hand—and before I could silence it—he dropped it in his jacket pocket.
I opened my mouth to object, snapped it shut when he turned his chocolaty eyes on me. He hadn’t said a word since showing up with Roger. I wasn’t sure I’d like to hear what he had to say just then.
Instead of grousing about Philip, though, Barrett took my hand.
As I hobbled along beside him, his fingers threaded through mine.
Barrett drove me directly to the military hospital on Fort Belvoir, an extensive U.S. Army installation just south of the Capital Beltway and located within the Commonwealth of Virginia. He did not pass Go. He did not collect two hundred dollars.
Naturally, being an army post, Fort Belvoir wasn’t open to the general public. As an army officer, Barrett had the right credentials to get through the gate. I, however, did not. As soon as a guard intercepted us at the checkpoint, and Barrett gave my name as Ms. Sinclair, it became abundantly clear Roger must’ve made some phone calls. And that the last name I shared with my father could open some heavy doors.
; The staff at the hospital’s emergency room was clearly expecting us, too. Rather than cool my heels in the waiting room, I got to warm a bed in a private room. With a nurse’s help, I still had to change into one of those despicable hospital gowns, but I didn’t have to hang out in one of those cubicles with nothing but a flimsy curtain for privacy. Most notably, no one chased Barrett away. And no one objected to the nine-millimeter handgun I could see riding his hip despite the handsome brown, tweed sports coat he wore.
After a cursory exam with a team of orthopedists, a series of X-rays, and an MRI, I found myself alone with him in my private room. My entire body radiated pain. If I breathed too deeply, I felt like my skeleton might fall apart. So I was more than glad to spend a few moments resting in a hospital bed. Instead of taking a seat in the room’s armchair, though, Barrett stood at the door, peering out the skinny window in the wood. He still hadn’t said anything to me. And that spoke volumes.
“Barrett, what are you doing here?”
When he glanced at me, his face was as innocent as a tot’s at Christmastime. “I’m waiting for the doctor.”
“No, you’re standing guard. Who called you down to Capitol Hill tonight?”
Barrett set his face toward the window again. And gave the answer I didn’t want to hear. “Your father.”
So, my father had called Barrett to the Hill. He’d sent him to London, too. In London, Barrett had killed Dalmatovis to protect the Oujdads, Katie, and me.
But really, he’d killed Dalmatovis because my father had maneuvered him into a position where he’d had to do so.
And I didn’t like my father manipulating someone as near and—if I were honest—as dear to me as Barrett.
“Do me a favor,” I said. “The next time my father calls you, don’t answer.”
Barrett left his lookout, crossed the room to me.
He touched a fingertip to the sapphire at my throat. “I’m a soldier, Jamie. When my country asks me to serve—”
“—My father is not the country—”
“—I’m not in a position to say no.”
I shoved myself higher on my pillows. And the pain of that unwise move had me gritting my teeth. “Your country didn’t ask you to the Hill tonight. It didn’t ask you to bring me here.”
“Maybe not.” Barrett grinned. “Maybe that’s why when your father calls, I pick up the phone.”
He smoothed a lock of my hair that had escaped my ponytail and tucked it behind my ear. “I’m going to look out for you, Jamie. If that’s what your father wants, so much the better. If it isn’t, that’s too bad for the Senator. Got it?”
I nodded. Barrett’s declaration was as good as it could get. As long as he didn’t expect some kind of pledge on my part. I wasn’t ready to give him one. I wasn’t ready to give anyone one. The notion of doing so had panic bubbling in my chest. But Barrett was all business.
He said, “Good. Now, you’re going to get patched up and you’re going to stay on the post tonight.”
I sputtered all kinds of protests. Access to Fort Belvoir was restricted, certainly. But with someone wanting me dead, I’d feel a lot safer behind the locks, bolts, and security system I’d installed in my own townhouse. Not to mention, I could use the cold comfort of my Beretta 9000S nine-millimeter or even my Bobcat .22-caliber pistol at my side. I’d left them at home when I’d traveled to London.
I missed them.
Beyond all that, I had another concern. Katie deMarco was still out there somewhere. I couldn’t just leave her be. She could be in danger—and chances were she didn’t even know it. Barrett, however, refused to hear any of these arguments.
He said, “Roger Lind and the State Department will worry about Katie. You need to concentrate on taking care of your arm. You grew up on an army post, so think of the next few nights here as coming home.”
“What?”
“I mean it, Jamie. You have to take it easy—”
I would. When Katie was safe. But Katie also had a habit of visiting her childhood home. Her sister had been sure to keep it in the family even after their father passed away. Katie had told me about it when we were in London.
And I’d have bet gold bullion to bullets that’s where she was now.
Chapter 27
“Well,” Barrett said as we sat in his car, perched at the top of a long country lane, “on the plus side, it looks like somebody’s in there.”
He was certainly right about that.
The lane fell away from us only to rise again before coming to a screeching halt in front of a ramshackle cabin. The cabin itself balanced on a ridge of farmland. It was surrounded by rustling, desiccated cornstalks and the dark of the night.
The place was tiny—and it was lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The squeal of a rock-and-roll guitar and pounding keyboards poured from it. Like a tsunami, shock waves streamed down the dirt track to thump against our car.
“Maybe we’ve got the wrong place,” I said.
But everything I’d read suggested we were spot on.
Thanks to the browser on my trusty cell phone and a few databases I often used in the course of my work, I’d found a twenty-year-old deed transfer from a Frank deMarco to an Annie deMarco. The only structure on the plot had been described as an “outbuilding” that was once part of an old plantation. In real estate terms, “outbuilding” often meant no heating, lighting, or plumbing. This place, though, had at least two of the three and seemed to be sitting on the edge of an older, larger farm. If this were the place, it would make for a modest beginning for an up-and-coming diplomat and her sister, the drilling engineer, but sometimes modest beginnings were the best ones.
Barrett said, “I wonder when Katie added the light show and sound effects.”
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”
We weren’t shy about rolling down the lane with our headlights blazing. When we parked in the dirt beside the leaning porch, we slammed our car doors good and loud. We clomped up the wooden steps, past a motorcycle that was barely street legal and the helmet planted on its tail. Still, no one came to the calico-covered window to see who was outside. No one opened the flimsy, hollow-core door.
With Barrett at my side, I knocked on the jamb. We got no answer. So Barrett hammered the door with his fist.
The music went dead. The door opened. Katie stood on the threshold barefoot, in blue jeans and a ratty flannel shirt. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, but the ever-present black pearls were still at her throat. And her mouth gaped as if she’d seen a ghost rise from its grave.
I chalked her reaction up to the sight of me. After all, I knew I looked like hell. That team of orthopedists at Fort Belvoir declared the numbness in my arm would probably pass—if I kept my new cast supported in a sling, kept the sling’s strap wrapped tightly around my torso, and regularly ate the industrial-strength muscle relaxers they’d given me.
Of course, the pills would make me drowsy. And a drowsy Jamie could end up as a dead Jamie. So I’d pocketed the bottle, walked out of the hospital, and sunk into the passenger seat of Barrett’s requisitioned car with all the grace of a battleship sinking to the bottom of the sea.
As a result, I’d felt every bend and bump in the road between Washington and Katie’s family’s place outside of Culpeper. But it was imperative Barrett and I tracked her down ourselves. Because until we could identify how the driver of that silver sedan had been so sure Ikaat and I would be walking alone from my father’s office on Capitol Hill, we couldn’t just call up Roger or anyone else and say there-Katie-is-go-and-get-her. At least, not if we wanted to see her live through the night. And we certainly wanted that.
“Jamie,” Katie sputtered, finding her tongue at last. “I didn’t expect…That’s to say, it’s good to see…I mean…”
She gave up trying to express herself and grabbed me in a squashing hug. When she squeezed me, it hurt so much I thought I might throw up on her feet.
“What are you doing
here?” she said.
Barrett told her about the silver sedan. And the State Department’s assessment of the situation. Then he gave her the bottom line.
“For helping Ikaat, you could be on an assassin’s hit list, too.”
“Oh, God.” Katie pressed her hands to her middle, retreated into the tiny house.
Barrett and I followed her.
An interior designer would’ve called the décor Shabby Chic. But I got the idea it had been shabby well before people ever paid for the privilege of being so. The front room featured a sofa covered with a pastel quilt. A nook of a kitchen had gingham curtains at the window. Through a doorway, I spied an iron bedstead piled high with embroidered cushions.
What the place lacked in amenities, though, it made up for in charm. It was sweet and neat, and somehow comforting. But I couldn’t let Katie stay there alone.
After all, if Barrett and I could find her in this remote location, others could, too.
“You’re not safe here in the countryside,” I told her. “Come stay with me tonight.”
“Oh, no. I don’t want to be any trouble. I can go to a hotel. There’ll be lots of people at a hotel.”
“That’s true,” Barrett agreed cheerfully, “but how will you know which ones aren’t gunning for you?”
His question convinced her.
While Barrett gathered up her jean jacket, carried out the rolling suitcase she’d stationed by the couch, and collected the Bose iPhone dock that gleamed on the worn kitchen table, Katie took my uninjured hand.
With a bit of a sniffle, she pointed out, “You could’ve sent the county sheriff to find me. Instead, you’re out past midnight when you should be home in bed, just to make sure I’m all right. I don’t deserve your kindness.”
Well, she’d done a good thing by helping the Oujdads and she didn’t deserve to have extreme politics punish her for it, either. Besides, I liked this girl. For all her polish and pearls, she was trying to find her way in the world. And wasn’t that what Ikaat and I were trying to do as well?
But I didn’t explain any of this to her. Barrett returned just then and suggested we move this party to the car. He and Katie banished me to the backseat.
The Kill Shot Page 21
