Terms of Surrender

by Kylie Brant

  “That his name?” Trixie threw a quick glance over her shoulder. Jolie was still busy with the receptionist. She returned her attention to Dace, speaking more hurriedly. “Wouldn’t have to be a lot. Maybe ten thousand or so. She wouldn’t take it. Got her pride from me. But I’d keep it for her. Help out with the expenses, rent and food. All the damn pills they keep shoving on me. You do the right thing here, you’d be helping her out, whether she knows it or not.”

  “An interesting proposition.”

  “What is?” Jolie strode up to them where they stood engaged in conversation, looking from one of them to the other. Her gaze narrowed. “Trixie? What’d you say now?”

  The skinny woman shook her hair back in a gesture that looked more pathetic than haughty. “Just saying wouldn’t kill him to cough up some dough. Make up some for you going through what you did. Having that kid die and all.” When Jolie’s expression went murderous, the other woman’s voice turned to a whine. “Don’t get all pissy. I was just thinking of you. He owes you. Maybe you can’t see that, but I can.”

  “Too bad you had no idea who my father was. You could have performed this little shakedown on your own behalf.”

  Dace had often damned Jolie’s ability to shut down, to keep an expressionless mask during emotional turmoil. But he’d never heard the cold tone she used now.

  “Yeah, too bad.” Trixie grabbed for her cigarettes, real regret lacing her words. “I could have had me a time with money like that.”

  She sauntered toward the door, leaving Dace and Jolie frozen behind her. Because he was watching closely, Dace could see the effort it took for Jolie to recover her impassive mask, as if she were rebuilding her defenses one stone at a time.

  Her expression was blank, but she couldn’t hide the terrible bleakness in her eyes. “Like I said,” she remarked as she followed her mother to the door, “she’s no June Cleaver.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “Why don’t you check your e-mail. See if your friend has gotten back to you.”

  They’d barely reentered their assigned quarters at the administration building before Jolie issued the suggestion. Dace studied her for a moment, but every sign of vulnerability had been firmly bricked away.

  She’d had ample time to recover her poise during the car ride back to police admin. She’d engaged Truman in a conversation regarding the security at Soldier’s Square, the park where the memorial was to be held the following day. And even Dace had found himself distracted by talk of K-9 units, countersnipers, full perimeter security forces and protective positioning on the dais tomorrow. Only two entrances would be open and access would be controlled by busing the general public and media in.

  But now they were alone, and he had to consider whether to let her use the case to regain a professional footing or take the opportunity to pry out even more information about her past.

  He had no problem hitting a guy when he was down, if it would get him the information he wanted. But somehow he couldn’t bring himself to use the events of the past couple hours to leverage more personal details from her.

  Realizing that pissed him off. He was going soft. No doubt about it. He’d promised himself just last night that he was going to take every opportunity to learn more about what made Jolie Conrad tick. Because she didn’t share willingly, he was going to grab any chance he could to force the answers from her if he had to.

  But he really no longer needed to. Brushing by her, he crossed to the laptop he’d been using and brought up his e-mail account. That brief encounter with Trixie had connected enough dots that he could complete the picture for himself. It also made it easier to understand where Jolie’s distrust regarding family came from. And a whole lot harder to blame her for those defenses that were so much a part of her.

  If Trixie had been his mother, he wouldn’t just have defenses, he’d have constructed a goddamn fortress.

  So he let her set the tone and shifted his focus to the investigation. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t really want to see her eyes go desolate again. Didn’t want to see the hint of vulnerability that had flickered before she regained control. She deserved a freaking break, a chance to recover. He was going to give her that much. If that meant he wasn’t being objective, well, she’d never know the difference, would she?

  He felt a spark of adrenaline when he sat down at the computer and saw an e-mail from Ben. The subject header read: You owe me. “It’s here.”

  Jolie came to stand behind him, reading over his shoulder as he brought up the e-mail. Ben had grandiose ideas about what his help was worth, as usual, and it was accompanied with the usual good-natured insults traded between Marines of Charlie and Bravo companies. But as Dace downloaded the accompanying attachment, he had to admit that if the info panned out the way they hoped, he’d be inclined to think of a fitting thank-you for his buddy. Hopefully one that wouldn’t cost him a month’s paycheck.

  He wasn’t big on having people reading over his shoulder, but this time he welcomed another pair of eyes. “Any of these names sound familiar?”

  “Let me get that list I made.”

  He typed in a command to print a copy of the attachment and then returned to the document to read further. There were a lot of names, but they’d be cross-referencing surnames with those on the parolee list. And if that didn’t yield a hit, they’d look at the records they’d gotten from the visitor logs and next of kin from the prisons.

  “Did you make me a—” A copy of the parolee list was jammed into his hand a moment before Jolie crossed again to the printer to collect the downloaded pages from OMPF/PERMS. She returned with the pages and pulled out a chair next to him, spreading the papers out before her.

  It was a daunting task. Ben’s list was arranged alphabetically rather than in order of date of release from military service. “The robberies started several months ago. Let’s concentrate on the military releases in the past two years who had OPFOR or Special Forces duties. You take the first ten pages of names, I’ll take the next ten.”

  His lips twitched. She was methodical in organization, whether it came to the lists she made or the way she approached a task. It came, he supposed, from having no control in the first years of her life.

  He put the sheaf of papers aside and turned his attention to the computer screen. “Okay, shoot.”

  “Abel.”

  They worked in near silence for almost three hours. When they came to Jones the work slowed to a crawl as they cross-checked the common surname between the two lists and the prison records. Dace hated to think of how long it was going to take them to get through the Smiths.

  As it turned out, they didn’t have to find out. Jolie reached out, grabbed his arm. “Marker, Adam Kevin. Take a look.” He leaned over to read from the paper she was holding out for him, rather than trying to find the copy in his own pile. “Paroled twenty-two months ago from NSP-Nevada, where he did a fifteen-year stint for armed bank robbery. Born in Santa Monica forty years ago.”

  “Right age,” Dace muttered, reaching for the next page she produced. This one was from OMPF/PERMS. “David John Marker.” He exchanged a grim look with Jolie. The HT had asked to be called John. “No Special Forces history but long stints on OPFOR units, first in Afghanistan, then Baghdad. Released thirteen months ago. Born…” He frowned. “In Utah? Thirty years ago.”

  He grabbed the sheaf of material they’d requested from the prison systems. “Did we get a response from NSP?” He began riffling through them.

  “They’re in alphabetical order.”

  He shot her a look. “Of course they are.” None of the Jones matches had panned out, but Marker wasn’t as common a name.

  “Well, we know now they aren’t father and son,” Jolie said. “But they could be brothers. Maybe half brothers, to explain the difference in ages.”

  Pulling out the NSP sheet, Dace put it on the table between them, running his finger down the list of names until he found Marker. Fifteen years was a long time but the list
of visitors was remarkably short. Either the man hadn’t had much family, friends or both.

  But one name appeared on the list on an almost yearly basis.

  Marker. David, John.

  “You called it, half brothers.” Dace sat back in his chair, a little surprised they’d actually found a connection. “Earlier in the sentence David showed up a couple times a year. That slows down about the time he joined the Army. Every twelve or fourteen months. Which would have correlated with his leave.”

  “The feds would have tracked the parolee angle first thing.” Reservation sounded in Jolie’s voice. “If this is our guy, why didn’t he pop for them when they were following up on the lead?”

  Dace shook his head. “He covered himself somehow. I don’t know. We can’t be sure this is our link until we get them to run a DNA match on the HT from the blood at the scene with the samples military personnel give. And that isn’t a database we can access.”

  “So we give it to the chief. The FBI’s antiterrorism unit and Homeland Security are connected to this case. There isn’t a government database in existence that DHS can’t get to.”

  “We just have to convince Sanders the connection is solid.”

  Jolie glanced at her watch, then stood, began collecting the papers they’d been working with and putting them in order. “And then he has to convince the feds. It’s a quarter to five. He wanted to see us at the end of the day anyway. Let’s give him what we have and we can go over the rest of the list at home tonight.”

  His stomach clutched. Home. Once they’d had a home together, but he didn’t read anything into the word the way she used it now. He finally understood just how unlikely a pair they had made three years ago. He who had considered a home and family as a natural course of things. And she, to whom both must have seemed alien.

  He rose when she did, following her to the door. It was humbling to admit that she’d nailed him dead to rights with the accusation she’d leveled at him earlier. He was no one’s idea of a white knight—she was dead wrong on that—but protective, yeah. Hard to deny it. Today marked the second time he’d tried to get her taken off this detail and gotten his ass chewed because of it.

  It was damn ironic that he still felt compelled to shield her from physical danger. Especially since he was beginning to understand that no physical harm could rival the emotional damage inflicted by her childhood.

  * * *

  “So, let me get this straight.” Sanders rubbed his jaw with one pawlike hand. “You’re saying knowledge of incendiary devices similar to the ones used on Conrad’s car and at the bank site could have been acquired in the military. And you’ve got a guy with that expertise recently released from service, who is a half brother to a paroled bank robber.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Jolie took the lead in the conversation, more than a little surprised that Dace let her. If he were sitting there contemplating how he could get her off this assignment again, she’d be better prepared this time. Dealing with Trixie gave her a lot of hands-on experience counteracting manipulation.

  “To eliminate David Marker as a suspect,” she continued, “we’d need a test run comparing his DNA—which was taken from the blood left at the site—to his DNA sample in the military databases. With the high level of federal involvement on this case, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

  “Problem is, Fenholt seems pretty damn certain their information regarding activities of a terrorist sleeper cell is accurate.” Sanders surveyed them both from beneath lowered brows. “I’m sure they’ve been over the recent parolees with a fine-tooth comb. They’d have nailed this Marker if he were the least bit suspicious.”

  “Maybe that means he’s smart enough not to arouse suspicion,” Dace put in. “We’re the ones who talked to the HT. There was no hint of any terrorist leanings. No clue of disenfranchisement with this government or its policies. Trouble with authority, sure. If we accessed his full military personnel file, I’m willing to bet we’ll find plenty of references to insubordination, or worse. But he told us himself, he was in the bank because that’s where the money was.”

  “And you think it’s as simple as that?”

  “We both do.”

  Sanders drummed his blunt-edged fingers on the desktop. “Well, it’s worth checking out. I’ll try to push them to get it done quickly. Is that the only connection you’ve made between the ex-military and parolees?”

  “It’s the first so far, and we’re halfway through the list,” Jolie responded. “We’ll finish it tonight and let you know if we find anything else.”

  “Do that.” A change in his expression heralded a shift of topic. “I had a long meeting with SAC Fenholt and some of her unit. They seem to agree with you that your appearance tomorrow is vital if they hope to draw the subject out.”

  Jolie had to school herself not to glance in Dace’s direction. But she could feel her heart thudding in her chest in anticipation of the chief’s decision.

  Folding his arms on his desk, he leaned forward, lowered his voice. “No one in this department would blame either of you for sitting this one out. What they’re asking of you…well, it’s a risk some wouldn’t feel worth taking. I’m giving you both an opportunity to stand down. No questions asked. No consequences. Think it over carefully, because it’s your last chance.”

  “My mind hasn’t changed since I volunteered for this, sir,” Jolie said firmly. The only difference between her first agreement and now was the mounting body count. “He has to be stopped. I’m willing to do my part.”

  “I’m going to be there, too.” Dace’s voice was inflexible.

  The chief nodded. Jolie couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. “I’ve arranged some further security for you. You’ll arrive in a department-issued armored vehicle. A three-sided canopy over the dais will limit positioning of a sniper.” Despite herself, Jolie felt a shiver crawl down her spine. “Of course, K-9 units will be in continuous use and a full police presence will be maintained. If something goes down, for God’s sake, don’t try to be heroes. Get the hell out of there. Once you leave, bystanders will be a whole lot safer.”

  Mingled relief and anticipation worked over her. The detail would go forward and maybe, if they got real lucky, this case would be broken by this time tomorrow.

  If they got even luckier, she and Dace would live through it.

  * * *

  Saturday dawned with clear skies and projected temperatures in the mid-seventies. The memorial service was scheduled for 10:00 a.m. Because of the difficulty getting the armored vehicle through a large crowd and close to the stage, Dace and Jolie would arrive two hours early, but remain in the vehicle until starting time.

  Like any well-laid plan, it was destined to fail.

  The first hint of trouble came when a tap sounded on Jolie’s bedroom door shortly after dawn. Sleep had been elusive. She’d lain there for hours before dozing off, and then wakened just a few hours later.

  She refused to believe that sleeping alone had anything to do with that.

  Last night she and Dace had worked until after midnight, but had found no other connection similar to that of the Marker brothers. Regardless of the feds’ terrorist link, she shared Dace’s confidence that the half brothers were a solid lead. She only hoped it was treated with the urgency from the Bureau that it deserved.

  Jolie opened the door to see Dawson and Dace standing in the hallway. Neither had shaved. Dace was bare-chested, while Dawson had a half-buttoned shirt on. But it was the agent’s bare feet that startled her the most. She’d never seen him any less than meticulously dressed.

  Foreboding pooled in the pit of her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need both of you to come downstairs.” The fed was already moving toward the steps, so Jolie cocked a brow at Dace. He lifted a shoulder. Whatever it was, the agent hadn’t seen fit to tell him either.

  Since she was decently dressed in an old tee and pajama shorts, she padded down the stairs behind
Dace. It occurred to her that had she not elected to sleep in the spare bedroom last night, the fed would have found her in Dace’s bed, where she’d slept Thursday night.

  When they got downstairs Dawson was seated at the kitchen counter. Dace and Jolie took a chair on either side of him. Habit had Jolie looking in the direction of the automatic coffeemaker. She had a feeling she was going to need the fortification.

  “I don’t want to alarm you,” the agent began.

  Too late, Jolie thought. Nerves were already jumping and quivering in her stomach.

  “But you deserve to be kept abreast of the most recent developments in the security detail for today.”

  “Just spit it out,” Dace muttered. He wasn’t, Jolie recalled, much of a morning person. For that matter, neither was she.

  Dawson looked at each of them in turn, his expression sober. “As you know, security has been tight at the memorial location. Top-level scrutiny. Special Agent in Charge Fenholt and Special Agent Pedersen, from the antiterrorism unit, walked it yesterday evening. But a couple hours ago the K-9 units were brought back to the site to do another thorough sweep and then to remain throughout the ceremony.” He drew a breath. “The dogs are responding to dozens of spots throughout the inside perimeter.”

  “Dozens?” Jolie was stunned. “Dozens of bombs?” Was that possible? Dace had guessed that David Marker had been the explosives expert. But he could have taught his brother what he knew before he died.

  “There haven’t been any explosives discovered.”

  Somehow Jolie didn’t find Dawson’s declaration particularly reassuring. Either the explosives were so well hidden they wouldn’t be found until too late, or the K-9 units were failing in their task.

  “Someone got in there,” Dace said flatly. “Scattered a scent—probably gunpowder—at various points to distract the dogs, divert the handlers and the bomb squad. And there wouldn’t be much purpose in distraction if there weren’t an IED planted on the premises. At least one.”