Escape from Danger

by Linsey Lanier

“I’ll just have to risk it.” And without any further discussion, he drew his gun again, turned away from her, and hurried to the nearest tree in a crouched position.

  Janelle felt as if the ground had turned to quicksand beneath her feet and she was sinking down into the earth. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. How dare Simon go off like that? What a foolhardy move. Hadn’t they risked enough tonight?

  On the other hand, if he could change Knox’s mind, it would mean he could stop running. What would the alternative be? To spend your life in hiding, always looking over your shoulder?

  She didn’t like either choice.

  Looking down at the keys, she wondered if Simon intended for her to come back to the park for him.

  Probably not.

  He wanted her to be safe. He didn’t want her involved in what had happened to Cooley. But she was already involved. Breaker had a photo of her. He’d shown it to Knox.

  And even if Breaker hadn’t, she wasn’t going to leave him. No, she had a better idea.

  Stuffing the keys into her pocket, her gun drawn, she came out behind the bushes and ran for a tree, heading the opposite direction from the one Simon had taken.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Simon pressed his back into the tree trunk and peeked around it in time to see the two men trot up a set of concrete steps leading to a picnic area.

  He only hoped Janey had listened to him and gotten away.

  This wasn’t her fight. She had to get to safety. She needed to get out of Argentina and go somewhere. France, Switzerland. Use one of the IDs in his duffel bags to change her identity. He knew she would realize she had that opportunity now.

  He only prayed she would take it.

  On the rise above him, Breaker and Knox were busy peering under colorful concrete tables where the locals played chess. Finding nothing under them, they let out curses and frustrated grunts.

  A noisy pair. Overconfident. That could play in his favor.

  “I’m telling you, Knox. They were in that corner of the park.” With his weapon hand, Breaker pointed back to the area where he and Janey had been hiding.

  He’d always had good instincts.

  For just an instant, the sound of Breaker’s voice took him back to their days together in Patagonia. They had been close. Brothers. No more. What had turned him against him? Who had sent him to kill him? Simon would never believe Breaker had done it on his own. Someone had gotten to him. The same person who killed Cooley.

  He watched their shadows moving back and forth.

  Finally Knox put a hand to his head as if it ached. “There’s too much distance. We need to split up.”

  At last.

  “Go and check the corner where you think they are,” Knox said.

  “They’re probably gone by now.” Breaker sounded completely frustrated with his companion.

  “I don’t think so. I’m heading this way. One of us will find them.” And Knox started off down another set of stairs.

  With a grunt, Breaker turned and hurried down to a field below.

  Simon followed Knox. Slipping out from behind one tree trunk to rush to the next, he kept behind him, but got a little closer with each trunk. Knox moved around the winding walkway, scanning every spot and finding nothing. Then he left the walk and headed across a grassy area. There were more trees bordering this spot. A nice place to have a picnic or for children to play.

  Now it would serve another purpose.

  Knox had his back to him now. He stood peering into the shadows of the palm trees, scratching his head in bewilderment.

  Simon raised his gun, set its sights on the back of Knox’s head, and stepped out from his hiding place. “Hold it right there, Knox.”

  Knox froze and raised his hands, still holding onto his weapon.

  “Put the gun down and turn around slowly.”

  Knox let out an irritated huff, but did as he was ordered. “What do you think you’re doing, Sloan?”

  “I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you. You’re a criminal. You’re wanted for murder.”

  “What did Breaker tell you?”

  “That you’re a traitor. That you killed your boss.”

  Exactly the story Simon had suspected they would concoct. “And you believe that without a trial? Without due process? I’m being set up.”

  Knox smirked. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that, Sloan?”

  “About as many as I have. But how many times have you heard it from another agent?”

  “You think you deserve special treatment? You’re not one of us anymore.”

  The words stung, but Simon ignored them. “I think I deserve to be heard.”

  Knox shook his head in disgust. “There’s a video, Sloan. Breaker showed it to me.”

  How could that be? Simon didn’t remember seeing a camera the night he’d found Cooley dead in his office. But then, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. “Knox, listen to me. I have a letter.”

  “I don’t care about your letter.”

  “It’s from Tiziano.”

  That made Knox think for a moment.

  With his free hand, Simon reached into his front coat pocket and took out the folded piece of paper. “Here it is. I want you to read it.”

  Knox narrowed his eyes. “This is a trap.”

  “It’s no trap. You have to believe me, Knox. Come here and get this letter.”

  Eyeing the paper in Simon’s hand, Knox took a few steps, then stopped again. “Put your gun down.”

  “What?”

  “My weapon’s over there on the ground. Lose yours, and I’ll come and read your letter. Otherwise we can just wait for the police to get here.”

  Now it was Simon’s turn to be frustrated. Something in his gut told him not to, but he did it anyway. Without taking his eyes off Knox, he bent down and put his Glock on the dry grass.

  He could grab it again before Knox could get to his, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Knox watched him rise, then slowly took a few more steps toward him.

  This was it.

  Knox would read Tiziano’s letter and doubt whatever Breaker had told him. There would be a conversation. Several, he hoped. Simon would tell Knox about Santana, about the suppression of the Custodians. About what had happened in Hyannis Port. About what Cooley suspected. Simon would show him Cooley’s letter, too. Then he would have people on his side. Knox would convince others. Simon could go back to Washington with a defense.

  Knox was just in front of him now, an arm’s length away. He began to raise his hand to reach for the paper. “This better not be a con, Sloan.”

  “It isn’t. And I’ll have a lot more to tell you once you read this.”

  Knox extended his hand. His fingers were an inch away from touching the letter—when a shot rang out.

  Bam!

  A bullet whizzed past Simon’s face, and took the paper right out of his hand. It flew to the ground yards away.

  Knox spun around and dove for his gun. “Breaker! Holster your weapon. We have new evidence.”

  “Like hell we do.” He turned to Simon. “You traitor. Cooley was one of the best men who ever lived.”

  “I agree, Breaker.”

  “Then why did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “How could you think you’d get away with it?

  “For the last time, Breaker, I did not kill him.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “What?”

  “It’s the last time. I hope you rot in hell, Sloan.” He aimed his gun straight at Simon’s head.

  “Hold your fire,” Knox cried. “I don’t want to shoot you.” He had retrieved his weapon and was about to use it to stop Breaker.

  But Breaker ignored him. “I have my orders.” Breaker turned and fired at Knox.

  His body flew back and onto the ground.

  Had Breaker killed him? Right there in cold blood? He�
��d turned into a madman.

  His heart pounding, Simon dove for his gun. But he’d gotten disoriented. He couldn’t find it.

  He looked up and saw a glazed look come over Breaker’s eyes. It was as if he’d been brainwashed.

  Still on the ground, Simon raised his hands and turned to Breaker. “Okay. You win. Let’s talk. I’ll tell you what I was going to tell Knox.”

  But Breaker didn’t even respond. He took a few more steps, steadied his shooting arm, and pointed it at him.

  In the lamplights, Simon could see the barrel of his weapon aimed straight for his head.

  It was surreal. Simon’s throat shut down. He could feel his own blood coursing through his veins. He was woozy, as if he’d stepped into an alternate universe. His old friend, a man he had once called a brother, was about to kill him and nothing he could say or do would stop him.

  This was not how he had wanted to die. Cooley’s murder would go unsolved. Group 141 would remain in full force. People would die. He couldn’t stop any of it.

  He was too late.

  And then the crack of a weapon came from the trees behind him.

  A bullet hit Breaker’s body, twisting him one way, then the other. A quick growl burbled out of him. He dropped his gun, stumbled backwards for a few steps, and crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  Simon turned around in time to see just what he thought he would. Janey. All in black, weapon drawn in a power stance, face hard, her gorgeous red hair flowing over her shoulders.

  His heart melted. That dead accurate aim of hers had saved his life.

  He got up, grabbed his gun, and rushed over to her, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her hard.

  But then a siren squealed somewhere nearby.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said as he reached her.

  Janelle came out of her stance feeling like a stone statue being released from a wizard’s spell. She put her gun back into her waistband and looked up into that dead serious impossibly handsome face as the shock of it all began to fade a bit.

  She’d come up into the trees behind Simon in time to hear the entire exchange between him and Knox. Like Simon had, she had hoped Knox would read the letter from Tiziano and see reason. When Breaker appeared, she knew the man was going to stop that from happening. She’d had to do something.

  And so, she had.

  Right now, all she could do was thank God Simon was alive.

  She gave him as flirty a smile as she could muster. “I’m glad you’ve come around to see things my way.”

  He almost laughed. Instead he took her hand, and she rushed to the fence with him, climbed over it, and raced down the city sidewalks, all the way to the car.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Janelle’s heart was pounding so hard from the run, she could barely speak when she climbed inside the Beetle, and Simon took off.

  He drove through the streets as fast as he could without attracting attention. They headed for the statue of Garibaldi, the headlights and streetlights blurring as they spun into the roundabout and came out the other side. Simon turned onto a multi-lane road, competing for space with several buses as they went.

  As she gazed at the tall trees looming on either side, after a while she realized where they were heading.

  “We’re going to the airport?” she gasped.

  Simon’s reply was direct. “We have to get out of Argentina. You just shot an FBI officer.”

  “In order to save you.”

  “For which I’m grateful. But I don’t think the Bureau will see it that way.”

  Feeling sick at the thought of being wanted by the FBI, she stared out the window at the other cars and wondered what would happen to them. She guessed she and Simon had that in common now. Being wanted. A bittersweet thought.

  After another twenty minutes, they hit the curving road near the Rio de la Plata and Janelle took her last look at the widest river in the world. Simon zoomed under the trees overhanging the road and made the turn into the International parking lot. He got as close to the entrance as he dared, pulled into a space, and turned off the car.

  After twisting around, he zipped open one of his duffel bags and began rummaging through a stack of cards. “Do you think you can find a scarf or something?”

  She reached for her suitcase and pulled out the multicolored silk scarf and the dark glasses she’d worn when they left Tiziano’s ranch. She supposed they would do.

  Wrapping the material around her head to hide her hair, she watched Simon select their new IDs.

  “These ought to work.” He handed her a card, then retrieved a wig from his duffel and pulled it over his head.

  It was blond and longish, and it really did change his appearance. He added a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and he really did look different.

  Then he reached for his phone. “We’re in luck. There’s a flight leaving in half an hour.” His fingers flew over the screen. “We have two tickets.” He turned to her. “Are you ready?”

  She slipped her glasses on and nodded.

  They got out of the car and retrieved their bags. Simon left the keys in the car, and they headed through the entrance.

  “Where are we going?” She asked, though she thought she knew.

  “Athens.”

  To find Kazan. To take him down the way they had Santana. To find out who murdered Cooley and pinned it on Simon. To take them down as well.

  It was the only plan possible now, and she was determined to execute it.

  And so when Simon slipped his hand into hers, and they stepped up to the desk to check in, she knew she would be ready for whatever they had to face.

  As long as they did it together.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Her heels made a steady hollow click as she strolled over the hardwood floor of the large rustic living room. Slowly she took in the oaken fireplace, the wooden trim, the sofas, chairs, and throw rugs.

  She picked up one of the pillows on the calico print sofa and hugged it the way she had when her parents first left her here for the weekend with her uncle. When he’d first run his hand up her leg. When he’d taken her upstairs to his bed and forced himself on her. When he’d threatened her if she told anyone, he would come to her at night and cut her throat.

  She used to hug the life out of that pillow while he did that to her.

  She tossed it back down. She should have the place redecorated.

  But there was no need for old memories. She was getting her payback. Her uncle was in federal prison, after all. This very moment, her lawyers were working on the papers to transfer control of the property to her. Her uncle had created the secret trust that had named Donovan Santana as the owner, so it wasn’t too difficult of a feat. Power of attorney was such a lovely concept.

  She moved to the wide windows and gazed out at the wrap-around porch and the large yard rolling down to a row of trees that hid the road below.

  The cherry trees would be in bloom here in Hyannis Port in a month.

  Soon after, the affluent neighbors would be coming in for the summer. She should have a party to celebrate. She would get to know them, establish herself as a warm, personable woman, an asset to the community, someone who wouldn’t hurt a fly. It never hurt to have character witnesses.

  The flash off the hood of a black limo rolling along the road caught her eye.

  He was here.

  She watched the car turn into the circular drive, then go around the back as she had ordered. He was to come in through the servant’s entrance. Security plus an appropriate show of deference to her newly gained power, she thought with a smile.

  She heard him open the door of the mud-room and trudge up the steps through the kitchen. She waited until he neared the entrance to the living room and turned around to face him just as he stepped inside.

  “There you are at last.” It was almost a rebuke.

  “I thought I was early.” He glanced at his gold watch as if annoyed by her comment.

  S
he didn’t like his attitude.

  He wasn’t a very striking person. There he stood in his black suit and tie, the typical FBI man. His features were undistinguished, though his build was strong. He must have thought himself attractive, but he was fooling himself. He didn’t interest her. He was just a necessary cog in the wheel of her grand plans.

  She glanced at the staircase in the hallway. No one there. The only other person in the house was her aide, who was upstairs unpacking her things. She’d told him to stay up there until she needed him.

  She returned her attention to the man before her. “Is it done?”

  He put his hands behind his back in a military-like pose. “Yes, ma’am. The money was deposited this morning. It’s now being transferred from your uncle’s campaign funds to your Swiss bank account.”

  “Very good.” The first payment. There would be many more to come. A little ripple of excitement swam inside her.

  And then she saw he was frowning. “Is there something wrong?”

  He cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. “The total. It’s—a little short.”

  “Oh?” How could that be?

  “I got a call a few hours ago from the operation in Buenos Aires.”

  Buenos Aires. One of the most lucrative of the undertakings, she had been told. “And?”

  “They’ve been dismantled.”

  “Dismantled?”

  “They were attacked by the local authorities.”

  “The local authorities? I was told they were under control.”

  “Apparently not as completely as we thought.”

  She took a step toward the FBI man. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  He flinched, reached for his tie as if he needed air. “It means the operation there is gone. Destroyed. We’ll be receiving no more payments from them.”

  Slowly her brow rose. She felt herself start to quake inside, reverberate from her very core. No more payments? She had planned at first to meet this FBI man on her yacht. If she had, she might have pushed him over into the water.

  But that would be no good. She couldn’t rule from emotion. Besides, she’d always prided herself on her cool head.