Scorched

by Laura Griffin

  “Three agents.” He pounded the steering wheel. “How can he conduct a manhunt with fucking three people?”

  “He’s got us, too. And Ben and Mark.”

  “Yeah, the Geek Squad. I’m sure they’ll scoop him right up. What he needs is some SEALs. We’d bag this guy in a minute.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You don’t believe me? We find people in mountain ranges the size of Texas. Jungles. Deserts. You don’t think we could locate some guy strolling through Times Square with a bomb strapped to his chest?”

  “He’s not going to have a bomb strapped to his chest. Did you listen to Mark? He’s interested in self-preservation.”

  Kelsey’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out to look at the screen.

  “What’s up, Ben?”

  “Is Gage with you?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “We need to talk. Meet me at Randy’s in fifteen minutes.”

  Gage shot her a questioning look and she muted the phone. “He wants to meet us at Randy’s Pool Hall. He’s got something on his mind.”

  “That’s the bar where we went with Mia that time, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No dice. Never go—”

  “—where the enemy expects you to be. I got it.” She un-muted the phone. “Not Randy’s. How about Smoky Joe’s?” she asked him.

  “I thought you hated barbecue.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay, whatever. But don’t be late. I’ve got about a thousand things I have to follow up on today after we talk about this.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  • • •

  The sedan whipped into a parking space in front of the motel. Elizabeth watched for a moment, then eased closer. As the driver reached for something in the backseat, she jerked open the passenger door and slid inside.

  “Goddamn it, LeBlanc!” Gordon glared at her, and she noted his hand on his weapon. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “A little jumpy lately?”

  He turned around in his seat and scanned their surroundings. Then he looked at her. “I thought I told you to go home and stay there.”

  “You also told me you’d call me.” She checked her watch. “It’s four o’clock. That was six hours ago.”

  He looked out the window and once again surveyed the area. Clearly, he didn’t care to be sitting in this parking lot with her. On the other hand, he probably didn’t like the idea of asking her into his motel room, either.

  “Why haven’t you arrested Lieutenant Brewer?” she asked.

  His gaze hardened. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Not true. He’s at the La Quinta on I-35. He checked in using the same phony ID he used at the rental car counter in Bakersfield.”

  He responded with a stony look.

  “This isn’t a love triangle,” she said. “You’re investigating something else and I’d like to know what it is.”

  “You’ve got an attitude, you know that?”

  “I don’t like being lied to.”

  He shook his head and looked out the window. The man had about fifteen years on her, but he knew he was trapped. He was going to have to tell her something, and although she doubted it would be the truth, she wanted to hear it.

  She watched his profile, almost certain he was trying to come up with a plausible story.

  Elizabeth reached into her purse. “Something came through our office that I thought might interest you.”

  “I told you not to go by the office.”

  She unfolded a piece of paper and handed it to him. The color copy showed a head-and-shoulders photograph of a man lying on an autopsy table.

  “Manuel Artigas. Killed last Tuesday night in San Antonio in a hit-and-run accident, just a day after Blake Reid was killed.” She watched his face, but he didn’t react to the name or the photo. “SAPD gave us a heads-up because Artigas had one of our agents’ cell numbers programmed into a mobile phone collected at his apartment.”

  Gordon glanced up.

  “Trent Lohman,” she said. “Police figured maybe Artigas was one of our confidential informants. He had a long criminal history.”

  Gordon studied the picture again. “Was he?”

  “One of our CIs? No,” she said. “At least not that anyone’s told me.”

  She watched him for a long moment. “That’s two people with a connection to Trent Lohman who have turned up dead in the last week. Odd coincidence. Another odd coincidence happened while I was up in Utah looking for Gage Brewer.”

  Gordon folded the paper and tucked it into the pocket of his blazer. He took a deep breath and seemed resigned to whatever she was about to say.

  “On our way to the Salt Lake City airport after being removed from the case, Frost and I pulled into a gas station. We bumped into several members of an FBI emergency response team. They were coming back from investigating a gas explosion about half an hour away.”

  Gordon didn’t say anything.

  “Funny thing, though, I also noticed a hazmat team trucking through town.” Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “Which sounds to me like something a bit more serious than a gas explosion.”

  “LeBlanc . . .” Gordon closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “I know I’m new. I know I’m inexperienced,” she said. “But I’m observant. And I’m not an idiot.”

  He looked at her. “What is it you want?”

  “I’m a good agent,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “I want you to give me a chance.”

  • • •

  Country music and the spicy aroma of barbecue greeted them when they stepped through the door. Kelsey glanced around, looking for Ben.

  “He’s not here yet.”

  “Yeah, he is.” Gage nodded at a corner of the restaurant, where Ben sat at a picnic table. “Damn, I never met a guy who brings a computer to a bar.”

  “It’s a restaurant,” she said. “And what’s your beef with him?”

  “I don’t have a beef.”

  “Every time his name comes up, you say something negative.”

  Gage put his hand on her waist and steered her toward the table. “Okay, you’re right. I don’t like him. He’s had the hots for you since I can remember.”

  “What are you talking about?” She looked over her shoulder at him.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Kelsey bit back a retort as they neared the table. She sat down on the bench across from Ben.

  “I ordered us a bucket of beer,” he said. “Figured you’d be thirsty after your trip to Utah. Pretty dry up there, from what I hear.”

  “Thanks, I could use a beer,” she said. “Talk about a disillusioning day. I’m still having trouble believing everything we heard in that meeting.”

  “Really?” Ben said. “I’m having no trouble at all. Government agents have been switching sides since the beginning of government.”

  “That’s right, I forgot—you’re a conspiracy theorist.”

  He shrugged. “Some conspiracies are real. I mean, think about it. Now that Bin Laden’s dead, the Department of Homeland Security has to justify its existence—along with its very big budget.”

  Kelsey shook her head. “That’s depressing.”

  “That’s reality.”

  “What’s with the laptop?” Gage asked, clearly ready to get to the point. She could tell the stress, the driving, and the lack of sleep were catching up to him.

  “I noticed something you said back in the meeting,” Ben said. “You were talking about Marissa Ramli.”

  “What about her?”

  “You said you think she’s a better bet than the parents. Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “Sibling stuff.” He looked at Kelsey. “Well, you don’t have siblings, but I do. Anyway, she ran off with her boyfriend about the same time Adam started going to a m
osque.”

  “And becoming very religious,” Kelsey added. “I wouldn’t think they’d have much in common at that point.”

  “They’ve got their childhood in common,” Gage said. “And problems with their parents. That goes a long way. Why, did you find something?”

  “Not really,” Ben said. “Gordon thinks there’s nothing there. The FBI’s had an eye on this woman ever since her brother was added to the watch list. They even had a phone tap there for a while. By all accounts, she hasn’t seen or heard from her brother in five years, just like she said. Also, Gordon had that agent interview her, and didn’t get anywhere.”

  “But you think she’s a lead.”

  “Maybe.” He turned the laptop around, and Kelsey was looking at a Facebook profile page for Marissa Jane Ramli.

  “How’d you get into this account?” Kelsey asked.

  Ben gave her a baleful look.

  Gage leaned closer. “She’s friends with him on Facebook?”

  “No.” Ben tapped a few keys. “However, she is friends with Amanda Lawrence.” Ben brought up the profile page for a twentysomething blonde who was mugging for the camera with a cat in her arms.

  “You think Amanda’s him?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. She’s supposedly from Atlanta. She doesn’t check in often, hardly uses the account—which doesn’t really mean much. Some people open an account and let it sit idle.”

  “So?”

  The bucket of beer arrived, and Kelsey wasted no time popping one open as she waited for Ben to get to the point.

  Ben didn’t reach for a beer, he just stared at his computer and drummed his fingers on the table.

  “This could be nothing, but whenever these two exchange messages, it’s about baseball. They’re both Braves fans.”

  “Makes sense if they both grew up in Atlanta,” Gage said, helping himself to a beer.

  “Yeah. But I don’t know.” Ben looked at Kelsey. “What do you talk to your girlfriends about?”

  “Oh, you know. Shoes, shopping, fingernail polish.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Lots of stuff. People we know, our careers, relationships.”

  “But not sports, right?”

  “Not usually.”

  Ben looked at Gage. “These two have exchanged four messages in the past five weeks, and they read like code. ‘Braves versus O’s tonight at the Yard. You watching?’ Stuff like that.”

  “Sounds like Braves playing the Orioles at Camden Yard,” Gage said.

  “Yeah.” Kelsey frowned at Ben.

  “Or meet me somewhere tonight,” Gage added.

  “Exactly. The last message was two days ago. ‘Hey, Braves are playing Phillies at the park. Don’t miss.’ Which could be Citizens Bank Park, where the Phillies play, right?” He looked at Gage. “But there was no game that night.”

  Gage tipped back his beer. Then he looked at the computer and rubbed his chin. “Do you have Google Earth on that thing?”

  “Sure.”

  “Pull it up. See if there’s a park anywhere near this girl’s house.”

  Ben pulled up the program and entered Marissa’s address in a blank on the screen. Kelsey watched the satellite view zoom in on California, then the Bay Area, then a densely packed neighborhood in San Francisco. They zoomed right on top of a concrete roof.

  “That an apartment?” Gage asked.

  “Yep. She’s renting. The building’s an old walk-up. Eight units, based on the utility records. She lives there with her daughter, who’s four years old.”

  “Four,” Kelsey said. “Wonder if that explains the falling-out with her parents. Sounds like she might have been pregnant when she left home. Boyfriend still in the picture?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ben zoomed out. Two blocks south of the building was a square of green. Ben clicked on it. A street-level picture of a park popped up on the screen.

  “Sandburg Park.” Ben looked at Gage.

  Everyone fell silent. Kelsey sipped her beer.

  “I told Gordon about my Facebook theory, but he blew me off,” Ben said. “I figure, you live in California. Maybe you could ask one of your buddies to drive up and do some reconnaissance, maybe pay her a visit.”

  Gage didn’t say anything. He stared at the map, looking pensive.

  “This girl’s been hounded by federal agents for years,” Gage said. “She’s had her phone tapped. She’s probably been followed. She’s been interviewed recently. I doubt sending a two-hundred-fifty-pound SEAL to her door is going to put her at ease.” He turned to Kelsey. “I’m thinking we need some soft skills.”

  Kelsey looked at the picture on the screen. “That’s a long way to go for a conversation. What if you’re wrong?”

  “What if I’m not?” Ben said.

  She glanced at Gage. His face looked determined, and she knew what he was thinking. Even if this was a long shot, it was the best lead they had.

  “Flying or driving?” she asked him.

  • • •

  Kelsey scanned the area around her for threats but saw mostly pierced teens and Reebok-wearing mall walkers. She turned down a row of cars and slipped into a space.

  Gage opened one of his eyes. “Where are we?”

  “Almost to San Bernardino.”

  He squinted at the glare and checked his watch. “It’s ten. You were supposed to wake me up at nine.”

  “You needed the sleep.”

  They’d opted to drive instead of fly, because even if they managed to get on and off a flight without attracting the FBI’s attention, Gage had flat-out rejected the idea of traveling without his gun.

  Now he gave her a grumpy look. “Tell me why we’re at a mall.”

  “It’s either this or a Laundromat.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned.

  “My jeans could walk around by themselves,” Kelsey said. “And that shirt you’ve been wearing for five days is extremely ripe. Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “No.”

  She pushed open the door. “Well, I’ve reached my limit. Come on, I’ll buy you a Cinnabon.”

  Gage sighed. He got out of the SUV and looked at her sullenly as he stretched his arms over his head.

  “Let’s make this quick,” he said. “I want us in San Francisco by five.”

  Kelsey led the way to the mall entrance, and an enormous weight lifted off her shoulders as she stepped through the tinted-glass doors. The cool air, the power walkers, and the Muzak coming through the speakers made it seem like a typical Monday morning in Anywhere, USA. The prospects of mass murder and bioterrorism seemed impossibly remote.

  They passed a kiosk, and Kelsey inhaled the scent of fresh java. Without a word, Gage stopped and plopped down a ten-dollar bill in exchange for two extra-extra-large cups. Caffeine in hand, they made their way through the food court to a spacious atrium lined with shops.

  “Look!” Kelsey picked up her pace as she spotted Old Navy. “Just what we need.”

  She entered the store and walked up to a mannequin wearing a stretchy cotton top in Caribbean blue. Normally Kelsey wasn’t much of a shopper, but just the prospect of doing something as mundane as trying on blouses after seven full days of off-the-charts stress made her feel giddy. She snatched a hanger from the rack and looked over at Gage, who was grabbing a couple of black T-shirts off a display table.

  He turned to look at her. “You ready?”

  “We just got here.”

  His jaw tightened, and she could see him trying for patience. He looked at the shirt in her hand and then glanced at the mannequin.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “What?”

  “No cleavage. We’re trying to keep a low profile. Here.” He turned around and took a dark blue T-shirt off the table behind him. He must have noticed her look of disbelief. He grabbed another one in sky blue.

  “Those are men’s shirts.”

  “Perfect for you. The less attention you attract, the better.” He turned to a nea
rby shelf and grabbed a navy baseball cap. He settled it on her head, then looked her up and down critically. “Even better. You can’t see your hair.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “In case you forgot, you’ve spent the last week on the run from people who want you dead. I’d just as soon not take a bullet because you’re trying to make a fashion statement.”

  She sighed. Then she glanced over his shoulder. “Look, why don’t you get us some breakfast.” She took the heap of T-shirts from him. “I’ll be finished here in ten minutes.”

  Looking less than convinced, he exited the store and headed for a nearby food kiosk. One thing she could always count on was Gage waking up with an appetite.

  She glanced around the store, and her good mood persisted as she noticed all the sale prices. The road trip had put a huge dent in her funds. After a lightning-fast shopping spree, she joined Gage at a bench, where he was munching a pretzel.

  “Mustard for breakfast?” She crinkled her nose.

  “Yours is plain.”

  He handed her a small paper bag, and she nibbled on the snack as they strolled back toward the entrance. She glanced at him beside her in his Bears cap and jeans. Here they were, an ordinary American couple cruising the mall and eating pretzels. It was just the sort of everyday activity she’d always yearned to do with him. She felt a wave of resentment for their jobs—both of them—which had made a normal relationship impossible from the very outset.

  “What?” Gage looked at her.

  “Nothing.” She nodded at the small pink shopping bag in his hand. “What’s in there?”

  “Couple things.”

  She peered around him and caught a glimpse of red lace tucked amid pink tissue paper. “I thought you said nothing flashy,” she said.

  “No one’s going to see this but me.”

  “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a realist.”

  “I think you mean optimist.”

  They passed a mom with a double stroller and two apple-cheeked boys in denim overalls. Kelsey felt a different type of yearning.

  Did Gage ever look at children and think about his future? He came from a big family, but he’d never once mentioned plans to have one for himself. In all the time they’d spent together, he’d never talked about it. And she’d been stupid enough to let him get away with that. Sometimes when it came to Gage, it was like her brain switched into low gear. From the first time she’d met him and felt that flutter in her stomach, her brain had sent up a warning: He’s too far away. He’s gone all the time. He could get wounded or, God forbid, killed. He’s an adrenaline junkie and he’ll never settle down.