Gunslinger

by Angi Morgan

  “An explosive fuse?” He made a face. “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds good, doesn’t it? Something you wouldn’t want to interfere with. There’s nothing in these folks’ backgrounds that shows they know anything about electricity. Just do what you can to keep them back if something comes up.”

  “Nothing will come up,” Travis said. “Even if they drove to Durango and immediately turned around and came back, it would take them an hour.”

  “Better to be prepared. And let us know if you see anybody else suspicious.”

  “I know my job.” And like everyone else on the team, with the exception of their commander, Blessing, he knew all the players in this case—even ones who were on the periphery or merely suspected of having some tie. The Search Team Seven members were all “super recognizers”—agents who literally never forgot a face. Travis hadn’t even realized other people shared his peculiar talent until he had been recruited by the Bureau. He could see someone once, in person or on video or in a still photo, and pick them out of a crowd months later. The Bureau hoped the team would prove useful in identifying suspected criminals before they acted. So far, they had had a few successes, but this terrorist operation was their biggest operation yet.

  “Okay, we’re going in now.” Special Agent in Charge Blessing gave the order.

  Travis waited while a utility van with the logo of the local electric company moved slowly down the road and turned into the driveway of the log home. As soon as they reached the house, Luke, Blessing, Mathers and the three other team members inside would pile out and go to work. Mathers and Special Agent Jack Prescott, who had trained with the Bureau’s TacOps team before transferring to Search Team Seven, would replace the living room and bedroom thermostats with identical units that contained listening devices, while Luke and Special Agent Cameron Hsung swept the premises for any incriminating evidence. Luke would download the hard drives from any computers onto a portable unit, and Hsung would photograph anything else that looked suspicious.

  When Travis was confident the rest of the team was in place, he slipped across the road to the front of the house. Dressed in khaki cargo pants and a long-sleeved khaki shirt with the logo of the electric utility over the breast pocket, he would appear to anyone watching to be a utility worker repairing a malfunction or inspecting equipment. He knelt in front of the electrical box at the end of the drive and pried off the cover. He pretended to study its contents, though he was really scanning the approaches to the house. One hundred yards ahead on the same side of the road, a paved drive led to a glass-and-cedar chalet, the log home’s closest neighbor. A retired couple lived there. The intel reports noted that they didn’t go out much.

  A soft breeze rustled in the aspens that lined the road, sending a shower of golden leaves over him. Another month and they’d have snow here in the high country. Already the highest peaks of the San Juans showed a light dusting. Leah would be happy about that. She had grown up in Durango and liked to ski. Was that why the trio had ended up here, after abandoning the house they had rented in Denver, only a few days before their friend Danny had tried to set off a bomb at the Colorado Cycling Challenge bike race?

  “Hello! Is there a problem with the electricity?”

  Wrench raised like a weapon, Travis whirled to see a slender man with a head of hair like Albert Einstein step from the shrubbery beside the road and stride toward him.

  “Our sensors indicated some bad wiring.” He lowered the wrench and delivered the line smoothly, though he had no idea where the words had come from. What sensors? Did electrical wiring have sensors? “We’ve got a crew up at the house checking it out.”

  The man glanced up the driveway, a worried vee between his bushy eyebrows. “I saw the van from my house. Did Mr. and Mrs. Ellison give you permission to enter their home while they’re away?” he asked.

  Ellison was the alias Braeswood had adopted in Denver and was sticking with here in Durango. The “Mr. and Mrs.” made Travis wince inwardly. Leah hadn’t married the guy, had she? Six months had scarcely passed since she returned Travis’s ring.

  He realized the old man was waiting for an answer. “It’s less disruptive for us to do the work while they’re out of the house,” Travis said. Undercover Tactics 101: know how to bluff.

  The man’s frown morphed into a glare. “I didn’t ask whether or not it was convenient for you. Did you get their permission?”

  “I’m sure my supervisor spoke to them,” he said. He made a show of focusing once more on the interior of the utility box, though every nerve was attuned to the old man and his reaction. All he needed was for this guy to decide to phone the utility company and ask about the group of “workers.” Or worse, this nosy neighbor might decide to call Leah or her “husband.” Even thinking the word made his stomach churn.

  “Does this have anything to do with the power outages we had last week?” the man asked. “I called twice to report them, and the woman on the phone said they would check things out, but you all are the first workers I’ve seen.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know the answer to that.” Travis tried to look friendly and humble. “I’m new on the job.”

  “I thought as much,” the man said. “You’re going to electrocute yourself if you tear into that box with an uninsulated wrench like that.”

  Cursing his own ignorance—and the TacOps unit for not doing a better job of briefing him—he dropped the wrench and took out a pair of pliers, the handles bound in green insulating rubber.

  “I’m not sure Lisa would be happy to have you all in her house while she’s out,” the man continued.

  So he knew her as Lisa. Close enough to her real name to avoid confusion. Or maybe the old man had misremembered. No, I’m sure she wouldn’t like having us in her house, Travis thought. He glanced down the road, which was empty, then sat back on his heels and looked up at the man. “I thought I heard they just moved in,” he said.

  “That’s right. They’ve only been here a couple of weeks. But I made a point of going over to meet them. I think it’s always a good idea to know your neighbors.”

  So he didn’t go out much, but he definitely kept tabs on everything. That might make him a useful witness in court one day. “Uh-huh.” What could he say to get rid of this guy?

  “Her husband was a little standoffish, but she was sweet as could be. As beautiful inside as she is outside.”

  Yeah, she fooled me into thinking that once, too. He turned back toward the electrical box. “It’s been great talking to you,” he said. “But I’d better get back to work. We should be out of your way pretty quickly.”

  “All right.” The man leaned closer to peer at him. “Duke G. What does the G stand for?”

  “Graham.” Travis glanced at the name embroidered into the shirt. He had no idea who Duke Graham was. It was merely the name someone in the props department for TacOps had chosen.

  The old man moved back up the road and turned into his driveway. Travis stood and walked up the driveway a short way, until he was sure the neighbor was out of sight. Then he pulled out his phone.

  “What is it?” Gus answered halfway through the first ring.

  “The next-door neighbor was over here nosing around. I’d hurry it up if I were you.”

  “We’ll wrap it up as soon as we can, but we don’t want to abort if we don’t have to. We aren’t likely to get another warrant.”

  “Just thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

  “Thanks.” He disconnected, and Travis pocketed his phone and returned to the end of the driveway.

  Five minutes later, his knees were beginning to ache from crouching in front of the utility box when a white Toyota sedan came roaring around the curve and swept into the driveway. Travis didn’t have time to leap out of sight into the bushes or pull out his phone or weapon before the car screeched to a halt and the passenger window rolled down. Leah stared at him, but said nothing. She appeared stunned.

  Her hair was lo
nger than he remembered, and she was maybe a little thinner, but she was still as beautiful as ever. He hated the way his heart ached when her eyes met his. She had dumped him with no explanation and had never looked back. He had thought that betrayal had burned away all the love he had felt for her, but apparently there was enough feeling left that he could still hurt.

  He stood and moved toward her. He had one job now, and that was to keep her away from the house until the team finished their work. “Hello, ma’am,” he said, his voice flat, betraying nothing.

  She gripped the edge of the window with both hands, her knuckles white. She wore red polish on her nails to match the scarlet of her sweater, but some of the polish was chipped. Unlike her. She was usually perfectly put together. “Who are you?” The driver—a burly man who wore a knit cap pulled low over his forehead—leaned across Leah to glare at Travis.

  “There’s a problem with the power,” Travis said, still watching Leah out of the corner of his eye. “We should have it repaired shortly.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Time seemed to speed up after that. The driver reached under his jacket. “Down, Leah!” Travis yelled as he drew his own weapon. She shoved open the passenger door and dropped to the ground as he and the driver exchanged fire. Travis dived for the cover of the electrical box as Leah rolled toward the ditch. The driver revved the car and veered off the driveway, crashing into the underbrush.

  In the silence that followed, Travis studied the slumped figure of the driver and decided he had been wounded, or maybe killed. He needed to check on the man in a minute, but first he had to deal with Leah. She crawled to him. “Travis, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Maybe I wanted to see you,” he said. “Maybe I wanted to ask why you couldn’t even bring yourself to say goodbye to my face.”

  Two bright spots of color bloomed on her pale cheeks, as if she were feverish. “I thought it would be easier if I left quietly.”

  “You left me a letter. A freaking Dear John letter, like some bad movie cliché.” The diamond engagement ring he had given her only six weeks before had sat beside the letter, another bullet to his heart.

  “I really don’t think we should be talking about this.” She glanced up the drive toward the wrecked car. “I have to go.”

  He moved in front of her. “I think it’s past time we talked.” This really wasn’t the best place for this conversation, but he couldn’t keep the words back. “I loved you. I thought you loved me. We were going to be married, and then one day I get home and all I’ve got left of you is a note on the kitchen counter.” The note had read I’m sorry, but I’ve changed my mind. Please don’t come after me. This is for the best. Love, Leah. The “love” had trailed off at the end, as if her hand had shaken as she’d written it.

  She wouldn’t look at him, staring instead at the ground. Her hair was coming undone from its ponytail, and she had a streak of dirt across her cheek. “Sometimes things aren’t meant to be,” she said.

  “Are you married to Braeswood now? Or should I call him Ellison?”

  She jerked her head toward him, her eyes wide. “No! Why would you think that?”

  “The neighbor called you Mrs. Ellison.”

  “Oh, that. That’s just...” But she didn’t say what it was. He filled in the blank. Her cover story. The lies they told to hide their terrible purpose here.

  “I get that you don’t love me anymore,” he said, letting that harsh truth fuel his anger. “But I don’t understand this. Do you know what Duane Braeswood and his friend Eddie do? They’re terrorists. They kill people. It’s fine if you want to hate me, but do you hate your country, too?”

  She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “I know what they do,” she said softly. “And I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand.” He leaned toward her, his face so close to hers he could smell her perfume. An image flashed in his mind of her naked, her body soft against his, his nose buried in the satiny skin of her throat, inhaling that floral, feminine scent.

  He blinked to clear his head, and the blare of a horn yanked him back to the present. He looked past her, down the road, where the Escalade was barreling toward them. “I have to go,” she said, and turned as if to run.

  He snagged her arm and dragged her with him into the underbrush, seconds before the Escalade screamed into the drive.

  Copyright © 2016 by Cynthia Myers

  ISBN-13: 9781488005657

  Gunslinger

  Copyright © 2016 by Angela Platt

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