Perilous Trust

by Barbara Freethy

  It would be risky. He was fast, but he might not be fast enough to fire off two shots before a bullet took down Sophie.

  As he adjusted the suitcase in his hand, the weight and the metal exterior made him realize it could be a weapon, too. Or at least a distraction.

  That's all he needed…a split-second could make the difference.

  "Do it now," the first man ordered.

  "Okay," he said, putting up his free hand. "You can have it. Just don't shoot."

  He took a step forward.

  "Stop right there and drop it. Then shove it over here," the man closest to him ordered.

  "No problem."

  He leaned forward as if to set the case down, then quickly changed directions, hurling the case at the man in front of him. It hit him in the legs, knocking him down.

  Then Damon whipped out his gun, shooting the second guy in the chest.

  The man's gun went off as he fell to the ground.

  He heard Sophie scream. He prayed she hadn't been hit, but he couldn't take time to look.

  The man he'd temporarily disabled with the suitcase was getting up.

  He fired his next shot at that man's heart. He staggered and fell backward, his gun falling out of his hand.

  The sound of the gunshots felt incredibly loud, echoing off the walls of the unit. He was sure they would bring someone running in their direction at any second.

  He turned to Sophie, who was gripping her dad's baseball bat in her hands, her face white with fear and shock. He didn't see any blood on her, thank God. "Are you all right?"

  She nodded.

  "Let's go." He grabbed the case and sprinted toward the car. He would have liked to check the men for IDs, but there was no time. He put the case in the backseat, then jumped in as Sophie did the same.

  He gunned the engine, speeding out of the parking lot as Sophie fastened her seat belt.

  He heard sirens as they left the lot, and he took the next corner on two wheels. They needed to get away, because getting caught by the cops with a suitcase of unexplained money and two dead bodies behind them would put them both in an interrogation room, with no chance of finding who killed Alan or who was after them. The FBI would take over their case, but that might put them in even more danger if there was a mole inside the Bureau.

  Sophie braced her hand against the center console as he took another turn and sped through an intersection. Thankfully, they were in an industrial area with large warehouses and semi-trucks to get lost behind.

  The sirens seemed to be getting more distant, but they weren't out of the woods yet.

  "Do you think they're dead?" Sophie asked.

  He looked over at her shocked, white, bloodless face. Her brown eyes were huge and terrified. "Probably."

  "Oh God, oh God," she murmured. "I think I'm going to be sick." She rolled down her window, fanning her face with her hand.

  He wanted to tell her to duck down, not hang her very pretty face out the window, but he had to give her a minute.

  "What are we going to do? You just killed two people," she said, rolling the window back up.

  "It was them or us. They weren't going to leave us there alive, Sophie."

  "What are we going to do now? The person in the office might have seen our car. Someone heard the gunshots. They're going to find the bodies. They're going to trace the unit to my dad, to me. How are we going to get out of this?"

  She was quickly spinning out of control. He had no idea how they were going to get away, but he would take it one step at a time—problem solve.

  "First, we need to ditch this car," he said.

  "Where? And what will we do then? Are we going to take a train or a bus or a cab? Won't the police put our pictures out on the wire or whatever they do? How are we going to use any public transportation?"

  She was right; public transportation was not a good option. Nor was continuing to drive around in the vehicle they were in. The license plate had most likely been captured on the security cameras at the storage unit. The only thing he felt remotely good about was that the bodies of the men he'd shot might later provide a clue as to who was after them, and hopefully Bree could get access to that information. But that was something to deal with later.

  Spying a long block of office buildings, he drove into a parking lot packed with cars and pulled into a spot between a sedan and an older model SUV, which wouldn't have any alarm protection.

  "What are we doing?" Sophie asked in alarm, turning her head to see if anyone was behind them. "Are we hiding here? It's too close. We need to get farther away."

  "We're not staying here. We're going to borrow a car."

  She looked at him in confusion. "Borrow—as in steal—a car? Do you know how to do that?"

  "I do."

  "But someone will call the cops when they realize their car isn't here."

  "It's early in the morning. I'm guessing whoever parked here won't be checking on their car until at least lunchtime or maybe after work. That gives us a few hours to get somewhere else, then we'll drop the car off, and eventually they'll get it back. Don't worry."

  "Don't worry?" she echoed, a high-pitched, squeaky tone to her voice. "Why would I worry? We've killed two people. Now we're going to steal a car. Oh, and we have a suitcase filled with a freaking ton of money and fake passports. There's certainly nothing to be concerned about. It's just a normal, average day for me."

  He grabbed her arm. "Stop. I promise that you will have a chance to lose it, Sophie. You'll be able to rant and rave and scream and cry—whatever you want to do, but not now. Now, we have to get to a safe place. Can you stay with me?"

  She stared back at him. "Yes," she said tightly. "But how are you going to break into that car? Throw a rock through the window?"

  "Way too noisy." He pulled his keys out of his pocket and wrapped his fingers around a small black gadget. "This will get us into the vehicle and start the car."

  "Really? They make things that do that?"

  "The FBI does. I needed it on my last job, and I never gave it back. Come on."

  He got out of the car and grabbed the suitcase from the backseat. He took a sweeping glance around the lot and then opened the SUV next to them. As he'd predicted, the device he had was able to start the car. Within minutes, they were on their way.

  Despite his outward confidence, he held his breath until they got on the interstate and blended in with the traffic. For another five miles, he watched his rearview mirror like a hawk, but there were no police cars on their tail.

  Sophie wasn't talking, her gaze fixed on her side view mirror.

  Another five miles passed; the traffic got heavier, and his pulse started to pound again. Getting stuck in a traffic jam was not part of the plan.

  "There's a police car," Sophie said suddenly. "It's coming up behind us."

  "I see it." He noted the flashing lights and the increasingly loud siren.

  "It's for us. They've found us. What are we going to do?"

  He heard the panic in her voice, and he did not have a good answer. They couldn’t make a run for it, not with traffic coming to a standstill. "Get down as far as you can," he told her. "They'll be looking for two people."

  She unbuckled her belt and dropped as low as she could in her seat. "What's happening?" she asked him. "Can you change lanes, get off?"

  "I don't want to do anything to draw suspicion." He paused. "The police car is coming down the left side. Cars are moving over for him."

  The siren screamed in his ear as the police car drew level. He snuck a side glance at the vehicle, enormously relieved when it went by, the officers inside obviously responding to another call.

  "It's not us," he told Sophie. "They're gone. I think there might be an accident; that's why the traffic is so slow."

  "They're really gone?"

  "Yes. You can get up."

  She eased back into her seat and refastened her belt. "I thought that was it."

  "I think I'm going to get off, take the fr
ontage road for a while."

  He drove the streets adjacent to the interstate for a few miles, noting firetrucks and police cars on a bridge at the scene of an accident.

  He turned on the radio, searching for a news station. He wanted to know if anyone was talking about the shooting at the storage unit, but a weather update and a traffic report were followed by political news from Washington. He turned it off, feeling somewhat relieved now that they were thirty plus miles from the scene and hopefully in a vehicle that no one was looking for yet. "I think we're good—for now."

  He looked over at Sophie. The color was starting to come back into her face, but she still appeared shell-shocked, and he couldn't blame her. She'd seen two men killed right in front of her. They were running for their lives, and they hadn't even had a second to talk about or deal with the suitcase her father had left for her, which raised another big set of questions. But he didn't want to get into any of that now.

  "I can't quite believe we got away," she said. "Everything has been happening so fast. You shot two people in less than a minute, and you did it before they could shoot us. How did you manage that?"

  "Training and a little luck."

  She shook her head in bemusement. "I thought we were trapped. I didn't see any way out. But you did. You saved my life."

  "I saved both our lives."

  She gazed back at him. "There were security cameras—do you think they caught what happened?"

  "I'm sure they caught us leaving."

  "So, now the police could arrest us for murder." She glanced toward the backseat. "And for having what looks like hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash."

  "We need to talk about that, but let's put it on the back burner until we get to a safe place."

  "Is there a safe place?" she asked with despair.

  "Somewhere. We just have to find it."

  "And then what? We hide out for a day, a week, a month?"

  "You're thinking too far ahead, Sophie. Just stay in the moment. Right now, we're okay. We're alive. That's all that matters." He looked at her and saw the valiant effort she was making to hold it together. "I'm going to keep you safe. I promise."

  Her brown eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I know you're going to try," she whispered.

  "Not just try. I will make it happen, and together we're going to dig our way to the truth. I'm going to need you and your brilliant, deductive mind for that."

  "I don't feel smart right now; I feel—numb."

  "That will wear off. Just keep breathing. Some days that's all you can do."

  * * *

  Sophie's pulse slowed down with each passing mile, and after an hour and a half, she was starting to feel like an imminent heart attack was no longer a possibility. But she was still worried and while she was trying to stay in the moment as Damon had suggested, she knew they were going to have to make some moves to stay ahead of the authorities and whatever bad guys were coming after them next.

  "Where are we going?" she asked. Damon had been driving side streets, keeping somewhat parallel to the interstate, but his turns appeared to be completely random.

  "I'm not sure, but we're going to be out of gas in about fifteen miles, so we'll have to make a stop soon, and that would probably be a good time to get rid of this car."

  "And steal another one? It feels so risky, even with your handy-dandy little gadget."

  "It's not my first choice. But public transportation is out."

  "I know." She thought for a moment. They were headed south toward New York, and while she was excited to leave Connecticut, New York didn't feel any safer, not while things were so hot. "I feel like we need to lay low for a few hours. Maybe we should drop off the car and find a library or a bookstore, a place where we could sit for a bit without anyone noticing," she suggested.

  "Those places sound too crowded."

  "But having people around might prevent someone from taking another shot at us. A deserted location doesn't feel safe." She blew out a breath of frustration. Being cut off from her entire life was starting to wear on her. "We need a friend." She didn't realize she'd spoken the words aloud until Damon gave her a quick look.

  "We can't bring friends into this," he said. "At least not your friends. If we get back to New York, I can get my friends to help us."

  "That will take hours at the rate of speed we're traveling and getting back on the interstate could be dangerous, not to mention we'll have to steal another car, and then that theft could get reported."

  "What do you suggest? I'm open to ideas."

  She thought for a few minutes, happy that her brain was starting to work again. A road sign gave her an idea. "Greenwich, Connecticut is about twenty-five miles from here."

  "So?"

  "So, the Rowlands have a house in Greenwich. It's where Jamie and Cassie grew up. You remember—it's where they had the catered lunch after Jamie's funeral, before we went up to the lake for the wake."

  "I remember the house, but why would we go there? Vincent is former FBI, and someone also tied to your dad."

  "Yes, but he's probably not there. He has an apartment in Manhattan where he stays when he's not traveling. He kept the house because it's where Jamie's things are, but he told my dad it's difficult for him to be there." Her idea began to pick up steam as she considered all the angles. "Cassie's mom has been in California since before Jamie died; she's not around. Cassie moved to London last year, so she's not using the house now, either. It could be empty, Damon." She looked over at him, feeling a surge of optimism. "There could be a car there, too. I know Vincent didn't want to get rid of Jamie's car. It might still be there." The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like the Rowland house was the perfect solution to their problems. "What do you think?"

  "It's sounding better than I first thought," he conceded. "We'd have to determine whether or not Vincent is at the house, though. I'm also betting that there's a security system. Most FBI agents, even former ones, have them."

  Her heart sank at that thought. "True. I don't suppose you have a handy-dandy gadget to get past that, do you?"

  "No gadgets, but I might be able to disarm it, depending on how sophisticated it is. I can't remember—is the garage attached or separate?"

  "It's separate. Even if we can't get into the house, maybe we can get into the garage."

  "We still need to know if Vincent is there."

  "Good point." She thought for another moment, then said, "You won't like my next idea, but think about it before you say no."

  "You want to call Cassie," he said, meeting her gaze.

  "Yes. You don't think they'd tap her phone, do you? I haven't seen her in a few years. She's living in London. They can't possibly tap into all my friends' phones, can they?"

  He shrugged off that question. "It bothers me more that Cassie is attached to Vincent. Even though he's retired, he still has friends at the Bureau. Peter Hunt might be one of them. I'm sure Peter called Vincent to ask him if he knew where you were, if not before we showed up at the cabin, then definitely afterwards."

  "And I'm sure he said he didn't know, because he doesn't."

  While Damon was considering the pros and cons of calling Cassie, she asked the question that had been rolling around in her head the last thirty minutes. "Do you think those men at the storage unit were hired by someone at the FBI to kill us, or were they attached to some crime family my dad was investigating?"

  "I don't know, Sophie," he said somberly. "I wish I'd had time to pull off their face masks or take a photo or look for ID. We might have been able to get my friend to identify them."

  "I'm sure the police will do that."

  "But we may not get the information quickly. It depends on how much access my friend can get."

  The men's images flashed into her head. "The one closest to me had a tattoo on his neck. It had snakes and vines and a weird symbol in the middle." She paused. "It's weird, but I think I've seen it before; I don't know where. I could try to draw it if I had some
paper. Would that be helpful?"

  "Absolutely," he said with an approving nod. "Good job on noticing that."

  "I wasn't trying to notice. It just drew my attention. It was creeping out from under his face mask, and I couldn't look away." She felt the tension return as she thought about those frightening moments. "I should have taken my gun out of my bag when we went into the unit. I don't know why I didn't think about that."

  "Probably because you're not used to carrying a weapon. I should have made sure you had it ready to go. You would have had a better chance of surviving."

  "I doubt that. You were more effective than any weapon I might have had in my shaky hand." Seeing Damon in action—so quick, so purposeful, so deadly—had definitely changed her impression of him. And while the fact that he could kill two men so fast and so easily probably should have scared her, right now it just made her feel safer.

  "You did good back there, too, Sophie. You didn't panic."

  "I didn't have time. I don't even think I was breathing."

  "And yet you noticed a tattoo that might prove to be a valuable clue."

  "I did do that," she said. "So, what about Cassie? Shall I call her? I know her number. I can feel her out about her dad's whereabouts without revealing anything."

  He hesitated, then slowly nodded. "All right, but keep it short. You're calling to let her know the tragic news about your dad. That's it."

  "She might have questions if she's heard I've disappeared."

  "Say you needed time away, and the FBI was asking you a lot of questions that you didn't want to answer, so you went off on your own." He pulled the phone out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  Even though it was her friend she was calling and her idea to make the call, she felt suddenly nervous. She wasn't used to lying to people, especially people she cared about. But she had to do it. She was in survival mode.

  She tapped in the number and put the phone on speaker. The phone rang once, twice, three times…and then Cassie picked up.

  "Hello?" Cassie said shortly, as if she didn't recognize the number and was anticipating the call to be from a telemarketer.