by Lisa Harris
“Where?”
“We’re still working on that, sir.”
“Well, now that I’m a part of this—unofficial—party, would you mind clueing me in on your plan to find out where that bomb is going to go off?”
Olivia cleared her throat beside him. “I might have something.”
“Go ahead,” the captain said.
“While we were staying at Felipe’s, we watched the news report about Sam Kendall’s death and Michael being a person of interest. I’d like to go speak to the reporter who broke the news. Her name is Rebecca Pearce, and I believe we might be able to get some answers from her, in exchange for a few exclusive leads.”
“She’s already been interviewed by the police, and didn’t tell them anything,” the captain said. “Why should I send you to talk with her?”
“Because we go back a long way. If we could get the name of her source, it could help.”
“You think she’ll give her source up?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve already contacted her.”
“You’ve talked with her?” Michael asked.
Olivia nodded. “She’s agreed to meet with me.”
“When?”
“Right away.”
“It’s not safe for you to go out, Olivia—”
“Michael, my brother’s missing. I’m not going to sit around here doing nothing, and I might be able to get her to talk.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” the captain said. “Someone wanted that information leaked, and we need to know why. But in the meantime, let me advise you to heed this warning.” The captain’s frown deepened the creases on his forehead. “If anyone in this group here so much as needs to sneeze, you’d better get permission from me first.”
Olivia shivered, despite the warmth radiating from the car’s heater, as Michael pulled into the paved circular driveway at the front of the cemetery. She pulled her coat tighter, wishing for something heavier. Pressing her fingers into the edge of the seat, she wondered why Rebecca had wanted to meet here. She’d always hated cemeteries and the memories they dredged up of her mother’s death. The scent of roses, the color black. And the icy feel of an engraved marble headstone.
She’d been twenty-two when her mother had died, two months after her college graduation. Ivan was just about to enter his teen years, and his mother’s death left him feeling angry and deserted. It had been at her mother’s graveside, watching the priest toss dirt onto her coffin, that Olivia had realized for the first time that she now had a brother to raise.
Somehow, she’d managed to hold on to her faith, but in the dark places of her mind, and in times when God seemed far away, she couldn’t help but ask the question, why?
She felt Michael’s hand brush against her shoulder and turned to him, wondering how it was possible for her to come to trust someone so deeply whom she’d known for such a short time.
“Olivia?”
She caught the concern along with a hint of understanding in his eyes. “I’m sorry. My mind’s wandering.”
“They’re doing everything they can to find your brother.”
“I know.”
She wasn’t even sure how to explain. She trusted Michael. Trusted his instincts and wisdom in the situation, but it was more than that.
“Are you having second thoughts about meeting with Rebecca?”
She blew her nose. “No. It’s just that being here reminds me of when my mother died.”
“How old were you?”
“It was right after I graduated from college. I’d just landed my first job but had no idea what I was doing. I wanted to take care of Ivan. And I was independent enough to believe I could do everything on my own.”
“Where did you live?”
“With one of my mother’s younger sisters for a while, but she had four kids of her own. She worked long hours and saw me as a free babysitter, cook, and chauffer. As much as I wanted to help, it didn’t work.”
“What about your father? How often did you see him?”
“Not very often. He traveled a lot and didn’t have time to be tied down with the two of us. He arranged financial help, and I got legal custody of Ivan. I was able to rent an apartment, and somehow we made it.”
“You’ve done a good job. Especially for someone who was given so much on her plate at such a young age.”
“Ivan’s a good kid.” She laughed. “I know he’d cringe if he heard me calling him a kid, but sometimes I still see him as that young, vulnerable boy. He’d hate hearing me say that, because the truth is, he isn’t that little boy anymore. He has more courage than most people I know.”
Including herself.
He’d been the one who’d encouraged her to stand up and do what was right, even if it cost her something. Without Ivan, Michael would be dead.
“What about Rebecca? What do you know about her?”
“Rebecca has an ear for a good story, but I’m worried she’s gotten involved with the wrong kind of people to get what she wants.”
“Why would you say that?”
“We went to college together. She has a tendency to be a bit ruthless. She goes after what she wants, not caring much about how it affects the people around her. We were friends for a while, but it didn’t last long. She stepped on a lot of people on her way up the ladder. I eventually decided that that kind of competitiveness wasn’t for me. I just wanted to report a good story.”
He wrapped his hands around her fingers that were cold from the dropping temperatures. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine him pulling her into his arms and kissing her again. To let him promise her that everything was going to be okay.
Instead, she pressed her fingers against the door handle, trying to gather the courage to face the truth she’d been wrestling with for three days. Her father wasn’t the man he claimed to be. And her life and Michael and Ivan’s lives were still at risk.
“She’s coming.” Olivia saw Rebecca walking toward their car from the east entrance of the cemetery.
Michael switched off the motor. The hot air began to dissipate in the chilly afternoon. “Are you sure we can trust her?”
“I’m not sure we can trust anyone, but if someone told her that you killed Sam Kendall, then she has to know who’s behind this. She wanted me to come alone, so let me go first. I’ll tug on my left ear when I’m ready for her to talk to you.”
Michael laughed. “You’re sounding like a true spy.”
“Very funny.”
He caught her hand before she got out of the car. “I’ll be right here. If you need anything.”
“I know.”
“And if anything seems off—anything at all—walk away.”
She nodded, wishing she could simply walk away. But she had to find a way out of this and ensure Ivan’s safety. Running wasn’t the answer.
A moment later, Olivia was walking along the sidewalk, surrounded by tall evergreens, letting the wind whip through her coat. Nerves twisted reality, making every shadow look like a monster. A man waited beside an older woman who laid a bouquet of flowers on a tombstone. So much sorrow. So much loss.
You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.
She grabbed onto the verse, refusing to give in to the fear. For the past few days, she’d been afraid of knowing the truth, but she’d been wrong. She needed to know the truth. Needed to find that freedom.
Olivia walked on, watching as Rebecca passed the older couple, headed in her direction, dressed in one of her typical outfits. Expensive Armani jacket, a pencil skirt, and a pair of ankle-strap pumps. Olivia’s budget would never allow for the thousand-dollar price tag Rebecca doled out for her outfits.
“Rebecca?” Olivia brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”
“Your phone call intrigued me, and you know I’ve never been able to pass up a good story.”
“You chose an intere
sting place to meet.”
Rebecca laughed, but there was a hint of caution behind her smile. “I’ve always loved cemeteries. Just think of all the stories that were never told. Family secrets. Lies. Affairs … Perfect fodder for a reporter.”
Or some seedy reality show host.
“I promised you a story,” Olivia said. When they’d spoken on the phone, the promise of a story had been all the bait she’d needed. “But I need some answers from you first.”
Rebecca’s brow rose, marked with a hint of doubt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said on the phone. I think you’re digging for your own story.”
“This isn’t about competitiveness or even our professions. It’s about someone’s life.”
“Someone’s life?” Rebecca frowned. “You’ve always been a bit overly dramatic, which is why I’m poised to move into television and you’re still working for some podunk local paper.”
“Did you ever think I might like my job and the people I work with?” Olivia tried to ignore the jab as she tugged on her ear. There was no use delaying the inevitable. “I didn’t come here to argue with you. I want you to meet someone.”
Michael stepped onto the walk behind them.
“He’s a friend, and we’re here together. He has some questions to ask you.”
“Wait a minute. You’re the man I reported on the other night. Michael Hunt.” Rebecca took a step forward, the smile back on her face. “Maybe you were right when you told me you were bringing me a story.”
“He didn’t murder that agent.”
“And you know that how?”
“I can’t tell you everything—yet. You’re going to have to trust me.”
“Trust you? Listen, I have no idea how you got involved in this, but you don’t realize what you’re mixed up in.”
“Unfortunately, I do.” Olivia shook her head, wondering who was playing who. “Which is why we need to know your source.”
“My source? Are you kidding me? He’d kill me if he knew I was talking to you. I came as a favor, nothing more.”
“We need to know your source,” Michael said.
“No way.”
Olivia tried a different angle. “Listen, you came because you were expecting a story. I promise that I’ll give you the exclusive when this is over—and trust me, it’s going to be worth it, but I need answers. We know you leaked the story, and that the information you had didn’t come from the police. Who told you Michael murdered Sam Kendall?”
“I’m not giving away my source. You of all people should understand that.”
“Please, Rebecca.”
“I’m in too deep, Olivia.” This time there was a hint of fear in her voice.
“Michael can help you. He has connections. He’s a police officer.”
Rebecca scowled at them. “Listen, I already spoke to a couple of officers about what I know, and I don’t intend to tell you anything more than what I told them. My sources are confidential. Period.”
Michael stepped forward. “If you come in with me and answer our questions, I’ll make sure you’re protected from whoever you’re afraid of.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Rebecca?”
“Listen, even if I did think my life was in danger, then what? You put me in some witness protection program and send me off to some isolated cabin in the middle of Alaska in hopes no one finds out? I’m a television reporter, with my eye on prime-time news. I don’t plan to spend the rest of my life hovering in the wings.”
“Is that worth your life?”
“There’s nothing to tell. I was contacted by one of my sources. I don’t even know the guy’s real name. He told me that Michael Hunt murdered Agent Sam Kendall. He sent me the photo of Michael that we aired. I dug around a bit and discovered that Michael Hunt—that you—were an undercover cop. And that you were supposed to be dead.”
“Why did someone want that story on the air?” Olivia asked.
“I have no idea, but it certainly didn’t hurt our ratings.”
“But there’s more at stake here than just a story, Rebecca.” Michael took another step forward. “We believe someone is planning to set off a bomb in a public place, and whoever gave you this information is more than likely involved in it.”
Rebecca pulled her purse strap across her shoulder. “I’ve already given you more than I should have. I need to go.”
“You have my number.” Olivia felt the frustrating tug of failure. Not every contact provided the information needed, but this time the stakes were too high to make a mistake. “Promise me you’ll call me if you change your mind.”
“Forget it, Olivia. You go out there and get your own story.”
Olivia watched her walk away. “I’m worried about her, Michael.”
“Not every lead pays off.” Michael gathered her up in his arms. “We’ll find out who’s behind this.”
“When? After more people are caught in the crossfire, or that bomb goes off and innocent lives are lost? Or Ivan—”
“We’re going to find Ivan.”
Michael’s phone rang as they headed back to the car. He grabbed it out of his pocket and answered it.
“That was Avery,” he said, hanging up. The furrow in his brow deepened.
Olivia’s heart stopped. “They found Ivan?”
“No. They found Felipe. He … he’s alive.”
27
What do you mean, Felipe’s alive?” Olivia took a step backward, stumbled, then caught her footing before Michael had time to grab her. “That’s not possible.”
She’d seen the bullet hole in his forehead. Touched the blood running down the side of his face. Checked for a pulse. There had been no pulse. She’d been certain of that. But clearly, in the smoke and gunfire, she’d made a horrible mistake.
She looked back up at Michael. “How is it possible that he’s alive?”
“Avery said that the hospital just made a positive ID of a John Doe brought in last night.”
“Felipe.”
Michael nodded. “The people who found him were driving to their own cabin a couple miles up the road when they saw that the cabin was on fire. They called 911, then stopped to see if anyone needed help. According to the police report, Felipe was sitting outside the house, completely disoriented.”
Olivia ran through the scenario in her mind, while a sick feeling settled in her stomach. There were clearly things Felipe had lied about. Things he’d purposely kept from her. But in the end, she’d failed him.
“This is all my fault.” Her chest heaved. The chilling reality of what they’d done swept through her. They’d left Felipe to die in that fire. “He was alive, Michael, and I just left him.”
“Olivia, stop.” He braced his hands against her shoulders. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t my fault? You can’t be serious.” She pulled away from him and started for the car. She needed to see Felipe. To find out if he was all right. “He was alive, and we left him there.”
He grabbed her arm and turned her around. “Stop. I know this is a huge shock, but at least he’s alive. You and I both know that we did everything we could. They were shooting at us, the place was on fire and filling up with smoke. We were out of options, Olivia.”
“Then we should have come up with another option.”
Feelings of anger resurfaced. She shouldn’t be snapping at Michael, but she wasn’t just angry at herself for what had happened back in that cabin. She was angry at Felipe for lying to her. For pretending to be someone he wasn’t. She was tired of the games and the secrets.
And now she’d just been given the chance to hear the truth from him herself.
She slipped into the passenger seat while Michael started the engine. Warm air began slowly circulating again but did nothing to melt away the fear surrounding her heart.
“Do you think Felipe is La Sombra?” She looked at him, knowing he didn’t have any more answers to that than she did.
“I thin
k it’s possible, but that’s a question you’ll have to ask him.”
“I need to see him.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I’ll drive you there now.”
Michael pulled out of the circular drive and headed toward the hospital, their security detail trailing behind them.
Thirty minutes later, Olivia stood outside Felipe’s hospital room, trying to find the courage to step inside and face him.
Michael stood behind her, attempting to rub the kinks out of her shoulders. “No matter what he’s done, no matter what he might regret or not regret about his life, one thing was clear to me when we were with him at the cabin. He loves you, Olivia. And nothing’s going to change that.”
Nodding, she stepped inside. Felipe lay against the pillow, his skin sallow against the white sheets. There was a bandage on his forehead, and his arm was hooked up to an IV.
“Olivia.”
She crossed the speckled tile, breathing in the scent of disinfectants and hospital food, while trying to settle her nerves. “I thought you were dead. I saw them shoot you … I saw you lying on the floor—”
“This wasn’t your fault, Olivia.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I couldn’t find a pulse—”
“You’re not the only one.” He shot her a weak smile. “It took the doctor awhile to find my pulse this morning. Apparently there’s a problem with my arteries not pumping enough blood. And this”—he touched the bandage on his forehead—“turned out to be a shrapnel fragment from the shooting that required a bit of stitching, but not near as deadly as a bullet would have been.”
He looked past her, toward the doorway where Michael stood, giving them some privacy. “Where’s Ivan?”
“They …” Her voice broke. “They took him.”
“During the attack at the cabin?”
“No, this afternoon. They tracked us to Atlanta, following the GPS device on Gizmo’s collar, then somehow tracked us to the hotel.”
“Who?”
“My father’s men? Or maybe men working for you? I don’t know.” She wiped away the tears on her cheeks, trying to erase the resentment from her voice, but knew from his expression that he’d heard it. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”
