by Dana Volney
“Move in. He’s trapped in the doorway to the condos.” Able had no idea if he’d hit him or not. But it stopped Rodney from finishing the job he’d clearly been on tonight—a job that now had Able’s full attention. If Rodney wanted the man and woman in the alley dead, Able wanted them alive and talking.
Able and his temporary team had tracked Rodney. Rather, Sabene had done the heavy lifting on that task, and they’d been on a stake-out for the last half hour, covertly taking their positions. Sabene had given them earbuds that let them all communicate simultaneously without the hassle of a cell phone, and then she’d set up down the block at a coffee shop and was doing her thing with her laptop. Milo and Rife milled around in nearby stores, ready if action should come their way.
Samson and Claire had been on the street, careful to monitor the area while not letting Rodney get a good look at them. They were pretending to be a couple on a shopping trip. Able had been the one to decide all the strategies; part of him had laughed on the inside pairing his brother and Claire together. The other part of him knew that forcing them together might get them communicating. Hopefully, that part came after they had Rodney.
He pointed his gun back to the alley and closed his left eye as he peered through the sights. The woman had moved back to the guy, who was so obviously dead. Courtesy of Rodney. Another man appeared, but the woman was focused on the dead guy. This was like watching a stupid cop drama on CBS. Only a screenwriter would stage something this clueless.
“The first guy is down. Someone else is approaching. Just knocked out the woman and stole her purse,” Able spoke calmly, not raising his voice.
“Pick him off then, dammit.” Samson’s voice had more of an edge than normal; Rodney brought an air of uncertainty wherever he went and they still didn’t know who he was working with.
“Rodney’s not here.” Rife’s voice was husky. “Going through the doors.”
“There’s a park on the other side of the condos,” Sabene chimed in.
“Milo, go around,” Rife ordered. “Cut him off.”
“Roger that.” Milo didn’t sound like he was hustling at all.
“We need one of these fools alive.” Claire’s declaration was in contrast to Samson’s. The two were probably in a staring contest. “Or both.”
“Wait. New guy is wiping a gun and putting it in her hands.” Bang. A shot reverberated up the walls of the alley and over to his perch across the street. “He just made sure she has gunpowder on her hands. She’s being framed.”
Who was this woman?
“Fuck. What have we stepped into?” Samson whispered, and the comms still picked him up flawlessly.
“Any luck with who these people are yet?” Able didn’t address Sabene directly, but it was clear.
“Nope. Still running them in facial recognition.” Faint keyboard clicking was in the background along with saxophone jazz.
The police sirens stopped when they reached the entrance to the alley, their tires screeching to a halt and their lights whirling colors up the sides of the surrounding businesses. An ambulance pulled up alongside of them, and three people ran to the scene.
“How do you have a database to do that in?” It was always difficult to tell when Rife was mad, happy, or neutral. His voice was the same no matter what: annoyed.
“I hacked into them.”
“Them?” Rife’s tone rose.
“All of them. CIA. NSA. FBI. Interpol. You name it. I got it.” Sabene sure as shit had a right to be cocky. She was one person he’d never want to piss off. There was no hiding from her.
“Police stations aren’t all linked,” Rife pointed out a comforting fact they all knew.
“Except for me. That took a bit of my time a couple years ago.” She was casual but focused.
“Samson, I need you to stop this new player. He’s coming your way,” Able said.
“On it.”
“Claire, can you get to that woman?”
“Yep.” Claire rounded the corner. “This is what my nightmares are made of.”
Able watched as Claire went straight at the cops. The officers had the woman up and in cuffs. He had to talk to her, find out what she knew and why Rodney was invested in that meeting enough to show up in person.
“Shit. He’s nowhere.” Samson came through loud, and Able rubbed his ear, making his way down to the street.
Fuck. Rodney’s back-up guy was gone. Even the fact that he’d had a helper there was uncharacteristically team oriented for him.
The cops had Miss Ponytail now. She was a piece to the puzzle, and he needed her more than they did. Hell, with them she’d probably not last twenty-four hours. There was so much more to this story, and the blonde headed to jail was their best lead. One way or another, he was going to talk to her.
* * *
Teagan opened her eyes. Her vision blurred and her head stung, burned, and throbbed all at the same time. She braced her arm on the gravelly alley ground and a zinger of pain shot down her arm and back up simultaneously.
Shadows approached, shouting at her, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Two men towered over her, and one kicked something from her hand. She blinked to try to focus. Where was she? Her chest rose and fell quicker, and her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.
Hands were on her arms, flipping her over, laying her on her stomach. “What is going on?” Her arms were wrenched behind her body, and she screamed in pain. She’d been meeting with an FBI agent who was going to take control of sensitive information she’d stolen. “My purse.” She was hauled up to her feet by sheer force.
“What’s your name?” A police officer in front of her holstered his weapon. Another was behind her, holding her by the arm.
“Teagan. Teagan Wyatt.”
Someone in a blue windbreaker ran up to the officer with a wallet.
“You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of”—the officer paused while he flipped open the dark leather—“Special Agent Aaron Wheeler of the FBI.” He pointed to the stretcher being rushed passed them; the man gripped hard at her arm to spin her to face the ambulance.
“We were meeting here and then someone starting shooting at us.” She remembered now. She remembered the sound of the whizzing bullet overhead, a thwomping sound she’d never heard before and now would never forget.
“You mean you starting shooting at Agent Wheeler. We have the gun. I’m sure ballistics will make a match.”
“No. It wasn’t like that.” The need to plead spread though her body and rushed to her head. This wasn’t happening. Everything had gone so wrong.
“You better hope he pulls through. Or that you have a good public defender. We don’t go easy when government officials have been targeted.”
The cop with a death grip on her arm recited her rights as he led her to a police car. She watched the lights spin around and around, the blue flashing in her eyes much like when she’d been knocked out. “Wait,” she shouted and tried to stop the progression of her arrest. “There was someone else here. They hit me on my head and knocked me out.”
“Excuse me, are you in charge here?” A beautiful woman stepped in front of the officer leading Teagan to a life behind bars.
“Yeah.”
“I’m Salma.” The woman in tight jeans, a trench coat, and extremely high heels pocketed her hands. “I was sent over by the chief to take her in. He wants you at another robbery three blocks over.”
“I didn’t get that call.”
“It’s a jewelry store. They’re trying to keep it on the down low.”
The guy let go of her arms and the lady, who looked more sympathetic to her plight, took hold of her other elbow and gently nudged her to the side.
“I didn’t kill Agent Wheeler.” Teagan held back the tears. This was not the time to break down. She had to make sure whoever would listen to her knew she was innocent.
They made it to the street.
“Hold on.” The meany was back and
beside them. “There’s no record of it being called in to dispatch.”
“Well now, there wouldn’t be, would there? It’s a friend of the chief’s wife.” Salma turned them to keep going. But there were no cop cars in this direction.
The cop grabbed her arm again, and Teagan winced at the pain that was sure to be a bruise soon. He wrinkled his bushy brows. “The chief isn’t married.”
“Oh.” The woman casually let go of Teagan. “Is this the fourth?” She looked around and up to the building across the street. “Are you not Officer Stroller?”
“No, I’m not. And you’re in the tenth.”
Salma waved her index finger in the air toward them as she nodded. “My mistake. I better go find the right street before this turns into something.” She started swinging her hips away from them until she disappeared into the darkness.
Her one glimmer of hope, someone who may have actually believed her and helped her, gone. The cop she was stuck with pushed on her head to get her into the back of the car. At least it hadn’t been the side that was sure to have a bump by now.
The driver didn’t say a word to her, and Teagan was in a daze as she was booked into the local precinct and put in her own holding cell. How was this happening? They’d gotten to Tabitha overseas. They could obviously get to her in Virginia. How stupid had she been? Hume Corp. was on to her and had just let her walk out their front door so that they could kill her to clean up their mess. But they’d missed and a good guy was dead and they’d left her to take the fall.
The cell door clinked shut and stunned her fog into focus. She glanced around the grimy eight by eight space. Holy shit. She was in jail. Actual jail. She covered her face with her hands, closing her eyes and letting out a hot breath. An hour ago she was high on making her sister’s death worth something and now she was being charged for attempted murder of a federal agent and she had no way to prove she hadn’t done it. Her word wouldn’t mean anything, not when coupled with her new potential rap sheet. She was a nobody and Hume Corp. had a team of lawyers. And obviously people on the payroll who would murder and frame her for it.
“Oh my God,” she whispered out loud just to hear her own voice, to know this was actually her reality. “This isn’t happening.”
“Wyatt.” A guard jingled his keys as he unlocked her cell.
“Yeah.”
“Your lawyer is here.” The big, cream-colored door swung open.
“What?” Her face crinkled and her gaze bumped around the small area. They hadn’t given her the one standard phone call yet.
“For an innocent woman, you sure had your lawyer ready,” the slender guard huffed.
“I don’t have a lawyer.” Her eyes widened. Oh God, they’re here to finish me off. A chill rolled off her shoulders and her throat tightened. She was too young to die.
“He seemed pretty confident you’d paid him to represent you.”
Her so-called lawyer wouldn’t actually try to kill her in a police station, would he? If he got her out on bail or whatever, she’d bolt right after fresh air hit her lungs.
She took a deep breath and nodded. She followed the guard to the other side of the building, watching her feet as if they weren’t even hers. This had to be a set up. Knowing was half the battle, right? She could deal with the known. It was getting knocked out and framed with attempted murder that she was having a hard time with. The FBI believed her once; maybe they’d do it again if she explained exactly what had happened.
A short guard opened the door to a small, windowless room with one desk and two chairs. Was the guard part of the crew? Had he been bribed by Hume Corp. to look the other way?
She stepped in, and the door slammed behind her. Her stomach dropped, and she took a step back. A guy on the other side of the room slowly turned around, and she held her breath. He stepped out of the shadow of the corner; the brown hair that swooped around the bottom of his ears was slick. He was tall and sported a goatee that outlined his perfect lips—not too thin and not too plump.
“Ms. Wyatt.”
“I don’t know you and you’re certainly not my lawyer.” She crossed her arms and didn’t move. Mostly because she was already backed up against the door. This is how she’d die. Right here in this dingy room. Dying a failure.
“Considering I’m the only person who’s here to help, for all intents and purposes, I am your lawyer.” His voice was as smooth as his hair. She’d almost expected him to have an Egyptian accent, but he was as standard American as English came. He took a step closer. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt underneath a jean button-up with a collar. He wasn’t even trying to look like a lawyer.
“I know you’re not a lawyer.” She gazed down over his lean torso. There was no gun sticking out of his waistband.
“And how would you know that?”
She shrugged, making sure she stared him down so he would know she wasn’t intimidated. That she was going to fight back.
“Okay.” He held his palms up to her, moving around the table. “No, I’m not. But I am aware of what happened in the alley. What really happened. And I know I can help.”
“By help, you mean because you were there and now you’re here to finish the job?”
He chuckled and it surprised her, her eyes squinting in confusing before she wiped her face of the action. His short laugh was silky and deep. This was all funny to him? A guy was shot and might die, her stolen information was now even more stolen, and this guy was grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat.
“If I was there to do a job, it would already be done.” A darkness flashed in his chocolate-brown eyes.
“So then who are you?” She dug her nails into her skin to keep from shaking.
She was getting tired. She needed to regroup, to come up with a new plan. Her ID badge might still get her in the door at Hume Corp. Or not, since they knew what she’d done and tried to have her killed for it.
He made quick work of the room, moving swiftly and lightly like a cat, and was in front of her before she processed the movement. “Do you know why you and the agent were a target tonight?”
A spicy lavender type scent with a sweet finish surrounded her. She blinked. Said nothing. Of course she knew. But did he? The lines on the sides of his eyes were serious. His gaze roamed over her face, gently, like a caress. She swallowed. She still had no idea who this guy was or if she could trust him. Look what happen to the last guy.
“You were set up. I watched it all happen. What I want to know is why. Now.”
She tightened her arms crossed around her chest and stood her ground. This tidbit of information was her only card and she had to play it close. And, technically speaking, she didn’t even have it anymore.
The guard knocked on the door and opened it, forcing her closer to her “lawyer.” “Time’s almost up.”
He nodded, not bothering to glance at the guy. The door closed with a loud click.
They stared at each other, neither blinking or moving a muscle. Fine. She had nothing better to do. She’d already screwed up everything else. She could stare into his deep brown eyes all day. Eyes that looked hard, like they hid an entire world behind them.
His chest rose. “Shit. We’re going to have to get out of here.”
“What?” That was not at all what she’d expected him to say after their little game of silent chicken.
“I need a better exit than that.” He spoke to her but looked through her now.
“Exit?” She was getting a headache from all the forehead wrinkling tonight.
“It’s a change of plans. Deal with it.” He swiveled sideways, his arm barely missing hers as he moved perpendicular to her now, scanning the room. “Cut the cameras. And while you’re at it, erase me. I couldn’t stay out of them.”
“Who are you taking to?”
He glanced to her feet. “Can you run in those?”
“I suppose.” Her black heels were an inch and a half—not exactly sprinting material.
“We’re going to go
soon. Get ready.”
“For what? What is going on here? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
She might though, had they been in a different scenario and leaving meant something good might happen. The man had nice cheekbones and was blessed with genetically symmetrical features. Good looks aside, she was still pretty sure he wasn’t there to save her. And if he wasn’t there to save her, whatever he wanted couldn’t be good.
The room went dark, and he grabbed her hand, holding on tight. “Let’s go.”
“No.” She pulled back.
He yanked her hand forward, and she had no choice but to go along if she wanted to keep her arm. They were out the door and down the hall in an instant. Yesterday, a shitty day meant she broke her umbrella in the rain or stepped in a puddle in her heels. Today she had a new standard: failing at corporate espionage, almost being killed, framed for attempted murder, and now being kidnapped from jail.
Excellent.
Chapter Four
Able refused to let Teagan Wyatt return to her cell. He wouldn’t have access to her again until the morning if that were the case. And by then it may be too late. Having a plan always provided the quickest result, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be successful on the fly.
“Turn left at the end of the hall,” Sabene directed.
All at once, voices in the precinct shouted orders to check the cells, power sources, and not to let anyone leave the building. People scurried about, shouting various orders, and at the other end of the hallway he heard the plastic sliding sound of weapons being drawn. They had seconds to make their getaway before they were trapped; they’d put more effort into the makeshift plan he’d devised as he’d followed the police car to the station.
“I’m set in back.” Samson could basically steal anything.
