“Trent, what’s happened? What did Jake say?”
He sighed. “You can’t go any closer to the Potomac campus.”
“Why not?”
The news he was about to deliver would be like a death blow to a career CIA operative. But she had to find out sometime. He exhaled. “Jake received a burn notice. It’s about you.”
“Wait. What?” Her face paled.
“The CIA gave notice to the intelligence community that you’ve been compromised by the Chinese and that you’re wanted for treason. The FBI’ll be waiting there to pick you up and hand you over to Langley.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Just a small exhale, the whisper of a breath. “If Mateo’s plane had taken off …” she trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
He couldn’t imagine the force of the gut punch she was absorbing right now. If that plane had taken off, she would have been delivered to a CIA black site where she probably would have spent the rest of her short life. An involuntary shiver raced along his spine.
“I don’t understand why the FBI’s involved, though,” he mused.
She wasn’t listening.
“There are protections. They can’t just render me.” Color was creeping back into her cheeks, and her voice filled with heat.
“You’re probably right, legally. But if they think you’re a Chinese spy, Olivia, I doubt they’re going to be overly worried about the niceties.”
She shuddered and then straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Determined, not broken. The china doll had a spine of steel.
“Won’t Jake realize something’s up when he sees the car isn’t moving? He’s tracking us, right?”
“Yeah, but like I told Jake, there’s a speed trap up ahead. We have standing orders to drive under the speed limit on this stretch because the local PD loves busting our chops. Rumor is, last year, they built a new social hall entirely from the proceeds of Potomac contractors’ speeding tickets. He won’t think anything of it when we slow way down.”
He was encouraged to see a faint smile bloom on her lips. “But … when I stop?”
“He might think we got pulled over. He might not even notice. As long as the engine’s running, he’s not going to get any audio alerts. And I doubt he’ll be sitting there with his eyes glued to the map. Not with the FBI in the house.” He hoped not, at least.
“Sounds kind of iffy.”
He edged over to the shoulder of the road and locked eyes with her. “It is. But it’s a shot, so I say we take it. If it works, we’ll have a decent head start before the FBI realizes we aren’t coming.”
She exhaled and agreed, “It’s worth a shot.”
“I’ll be as fast as I can, but the FBI’s close and they’ll probably take this same road in, so stay inside the vegetable stand. Don’t poke your head out.”
“Got it.”
He powered down his cell phone and dropped it in the center console. “I’m leaving this in the vehicle. I suggest you do the same.”
She nodded, shut down her phone, and tossed it on top of his. Then she unbuckled her seat belt to scoot across the front compartment and take over the wheel as he opened the door and dropped to the ground, ready to sprint.
“Wait,” she called.
He turned back. Her eyes were turbulent, like the ocean after a storm. “What?”
“Aren’t you gonna ask?”
“Ask what?”
“If I’m a Chinese spy?”
He grinned. “No need. I trust you.”
The spark that lit her face reached into his belly and warmed his core. He slammed the door shut and raced toward the long red-stained fence that bordered the racing club’s land. He vaulted it one-handed, then sprinted up the green hill and into the woods.
9
Trent hopped the fence with a graceful, fluid movement and sprinted over the rolling green hills beyond it. Olivia estimated he was running a sub-five-minute mile. Not too shabby.
She checked her mirrors for traffic, then eased the SUV back onto the ribbon of highway. Her brain was numb and fuzzy, and her hands seemed disembodied, like they weren’t a part of her. She was pretty sure she was having some sort of shock response to the fact that the government, her government, had declared her a traitor and a spy.
She’d lived the lie of her cover for so long that she couldn’t imagine being Olivia Santos without it. Her thoughts turned to Mateo, and she wondered if she’d ever see him again. But in the next instant, she realized it didn’t matter. Her career was over, and her marriage was over. She should have felt a sense of loss. A pang of regret. Something.
She couldn’t wrap her mind around being labeled a traitor, but the thought of being free from Mateo? That made her feel expansive and light, as if she’d shrugged off a heavy knapsack.
Celebrate the death of your relationship later, she warned herself. Now, you need to focus on clearing your name. If you can.
She thanked her lucky stars that she’d destroyed her communicator before the burn notice had been disseminated. If she hadn’t … she shuddered. And then she realized luck had nothing to do with it. Marielle had protected her. She hoped her friend had sufficiently covered her tracks.
Because she was tainted. Anyone who helped her risked being deemed a traitor.
Including Trent.
Her breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t let Trent throw away his career, not to mention his freedom, to help her. If they were caught, he’d face charges. She couldn’t drag him into her mess.
She rounded the bend, still trying to decide where to go, what to do, and spotted the barn he’d mentioned. The decent thing—the honorable thing—to do would be to get as far from Potomac as she could before Jake realized and shut down the SUV remotely.
She pressed down on the gas and sped up. She could keep driving. Right out of Trent Mann’s life. The only problem with that plan was that, if Potomac really could kill the engine at any time, and if the FBI really was around the corner, she’d be apprehended within minutes. She’d be arrested before she had a chance to clear her name. She eased her foot off the gas. A lump took up residence in her throat.
Her choices sucked: involve Trent or be captured. She had to decide right now. The farm lane leading to the ramshackle barn was just ahead.
Trust Trent. Or go it alone.
She bit down on her lip, checked to see what her gut was telling her, and eased the SUV off the highway. She bumped over the overgrown dirt path that led to the open barn and drove right inside. She parked the SUV and left it running.
I hope this works.
She repeated the words as a silent mantra as she climbed out of the car and sprinted back up the path to the weather-beaten vegetable stand near the shoulder of the road. The stand was secured with a padlock on its wooden door. She had neither the tools nor the time to pick it. Not when an FBI agent might drive by any second.
Luckily, finesse wasn’t her only option. She aimed an explosive spinning ax kick at the door. It splintered apart and bounced back, hanging crookedly from its hinge. Ordinarily, she’d feel guilty about destroying private property, but judging by the weeds, the cobwebs, and the rotting wood, the structure had been abandoned years ago.
She ducked inside and pressed herself against the wall. Over the drumming of her heartbeat, the thwack of a helicopter’s propeller blades cut through the air. The helicopter was nearby and, no doubt, its passengers were looking for her. She pressed her hands over her ears to drown out the sound, but she couldn’t quell the frantic banging inside her chest.
Trent’s lungs burned and he poured on more speed as he crested the final hill. He slipped between the trees to enter the woods that sloped down and ran behind the private garages owned by the members of the Valley Racing Club.
He reached the edge of the woods and studied Leilah Khan’s bays. He waited a beat to confirm that no drivers or mechanics were out back having a smoke or making a phone call. The area was deserted. He stepped into the cle
aring and shoved his hands in his pockets. He strolled toward the small door set in the back of Leilah’s garage and wondered belatedly if she was even in town.
He shrugged and knocked on the door. If she wasn’t around, he’d find a way inside to borrow a car now, and let her know later. But, after a few seconds, the corner of a cheerful red headscarf appeared in the very bottom of the window.
The door swung open, and the diminutive race car driver swept him into a tight hug with a gleeful shout. “Trent, this is a surprise!”
He extricated himself from the exuberant greeting, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. As she studied his face, her smile faltered.
“Something’s wrong. Is it … Omar?”
“Your brother’s fine,” he hurried to reassure her.
“Really? You have to tell me. Please.” Her voice shook.
The Khan siblings spent a lot of time worrying about one another and their dangerous professions: Leilah, because Omar was an undercover agent with the Drug Enforcement Agency; Omar, because Leilah was a professional race car driver.
He took her hands in his and locked his gaze on her anxious eyes. “As far as I know, Omar’s not in any danger. I promise you that. I’m here because I’m in trouble. I need a favor.”
Her face cleared, and she exhaled a long whooshing breath. “Good. Oh, not good that you’re in a tight spot, of course. I mean—”
He waved off her rambling apology. “I get it.”
“What do you need? I’ll help any way I can.”
“I was hoping that’s what you’d say. I need to borrow a car.”
She nodded. “Sure. Are you entering a race? Road Atlanta’s this weekend, right?”
“It’s not for a race. I need a street-legal vehicle. One that Jake can’t trace and isn’t tied to me.”
“What’s going on?” Her forehead creased at the notion of helping him behind Jake’s back.
“I can’t tell you—for your own protection. But I could use a set of wheels.”
She waved toward the rows of keys hanging from the pegboard behind her desk. “Take your pick, but if you’re trying to stay off the radar, good luck. My cars aren’t exactly nondescript.”
He chuckled. That was an understatement. Leilah’s cars were like Leilah—gorgeous, loud, and fast.
“I’m not worried about blending in. I’m worried about going fast and not being tracked.”
She tapped a scarlet fingernail against her lips. “In that case, take Marie.”
“Sorry, I’m not on a first-name basis with all your cars. Which one’s Marie?”
She snagged a set of keys from the board and gestured for him to follow her. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
She led the way through the glossy garage. When she flicked on the lights, the space lit up like a luxury car showroom, which, he supposed, was what it was.
She ran her hand along the hood of a brilliant canary yellow 1995 993 911 Porsche Turbo. “This is Marie. Marie, Trent.”
“Nice to meet you, Marie,” he deadpanned.
She was a beauty. Even better, she had no GPS, and hardly any electronics. Virtually untraceable.
Leilah tossed him the keys. “She’s got a full tank of gas. Do you need anything else? Money, food? Anything.”
“This is more than enough. Thank you. I owe you one.”
“Sure. I’ll file that away to collect sometime in the future. You be careful.”
“Always. If anyone comes poking around and asks if you’ve seen me, you should say no. You don’t want to admit to aiding and abetting me.”
“Even Jake?”
“Especially Jake.”
“He might notice a car is missing.”
“Say it was stolen.”
She frowned. “No way. If I report it stolen, they’ll put out a BOLO message.”
“I know, but better that than you going down with me. Omar would kick my butt from here to Sunday if I got you in trouble.”
She laughed merrily. “He really is the stereotypical protective big brother, isn’t he?” Then she drew her eyebrows together. “Oh, but, he’ll notice right away that Marie’s gone. You said not to tell anyone that I’ve seen you. That doesn’t include Omar, right?”
He sucked in a breath. Omar was a friend. A standup guy. If he knew Trent was in a jam, he’d try to help. But, this wasn’t an ordinary problem, this was the career-ending kind.
“It’d be better if you didn’t mention it. For his sake.”
Concern washed over her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I will be.” He infused his voice with conviction. He wondered who he was trying to convince—her or himself?
10
Olivia pointed out the pub. It was nestled between a vintage clothing store and a hardware store. Trent ducked his head and peered over her shoulder through the passenger window.
“Is there parking out back?”
“There is, but it’s suboptimal. The one-way alley behind is narrow and dead ends behind the hardware store.”
“Good place for an ambush. Bad place to park.” He continued to the end of the block.
“There. To the left, take that alley and follow it for another block. There’s a bread factory—or at least there used to be—the parking lot’s open to the public when the factory’s closed.”
He nosed the Porsche down the bumpy cobblestone alley. They reached the old brick bread factory, closed for the day, and he parked the bright yellow sports car in the empty parking lot under a sign that listed the factory hours. They walked the two short blocks back to the main street in companionable silence.
They made a good team, she thought. They looked like an ordinary couple out for a casual stroll, but they had similar situational awareness—both scanning the street from side to side and stopping from time to time to pretend to window shop. She could tell that, like her, he was checking the reflection to confirm they weren’t being followed.
They reached the pub, and he held the door for her. Inside the dark wood interior, the air was chilly and dank, the music too loud, and all the surfaces were sticky. Just the way she remembered it.
As the tinkle of the bell over the door announced their arrival, the brunette leaning against the hostess stand looked up from her cell phone and smiled.
“Hey, y’all,” she said cheerfully. She eyed Olivia. “I know you. You’re one of the trivia girls. It’s been a hot minute.”
“It’s been over three years,” Olivia countered. “I can’t believe you remember me.”
“I never forget a face.”
Great. Just her luck. A bar hostess with an eidetic memory.
“Hi, there,” Trent interjected with a wide, cocky grin.
“Uh, hi, yourself,” the hostess said.
Olivia threw him a look. Then she realized what he was up to. The hostess had forgotten all about her and was staring at Trent like she wanted to eat him with a spoon. Without breaking eye contact, the woman grabbed two oversized laminated menus from the shelf under the stand and returned Trent’s smile with a high-wattage grin of her own. “Booth or table?”
Olivia scanned the mostly empty dining room. The tables were set up against the long glass windows, making their occupants visible from the street.
“Booth,” she and Trent said in unison.
He chuckled, then added, “Near the kitchen, please.”
Olivia nodded in silent agreement. Easy access to the back exit. Smart.
The hostess tossed her hair over her shoulder and led them to a corner booth tucked into the back of the room. Olivia and Trent both lunged for the side that faced the entrance. Trent got there first and Olivia reluctantly lowered herself on to the seat that faced the kitchen.
The hostess sashayed off with one final over-the-shoulder longing look at Trent, who seemed not to notice.
Olivia scanned the menu. It hadn’t changed much, if at all, since her Langley days.
“You could just scoot over here, you know,” Trent
remarked.
She looked up and blinked. “Pardon?”
“I’ve got your six, don’t worry. But if you want to face the door, you could sit next to me. There’s plenty of room.”
“What, like a couple of lovebirds in the throes of a new relationship?”
“Sure.” He patted the seat.
She made a face, but pretending she was so into Trent that she couldn’t bear to be separated from him by two-and-a-half feet of table was better than not knowing what was coming through the door. So she squeezed in close beside him, then covered his hand with hers, and batted her eyelashes. “I missed you from all the way over there, sweetie.”
Trent burst into laughter and was still gasping for breath when a waiter approached with two sweating glasses of water. Olivia studied him as he pulled two cork coasters from his apron pocket and placed them on the table. He was young, too young to have worked here when she and Elle used to run the board at trivia night.
“Hi, folks. I’m Caleb. I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Can I get you a couple beers? Or a pitcher? Harp’s on special.”
Of course it was. It was Tuesday. This place was like a time capsule.
Trent wiggled his eyebrows at her. A beer would taste good. Heaven knew they’d earned it. She lifted her pointer finger. One.
He nodded. “We’ll each have a beer. Thanks, Caleb.”
“And a cup of coffee for me. Black, please,” Olivia added. She felt as if she’d been awake for days. Coffee was a band-aid, she knew, but it would keep her going until she and Trent talked to Marielle and then found a place to hunker down for the night. She batted away the thought of spending the night with Trent, under any conditions.
“You got it. Are you ready to order or do you need more time?”
“We’re meeting someone, actually.”
“You want me to put in an appetizer order while you’re waiting for your friend?”
Olivia was about to say no, but her stomach growled an answer of its own. “Share a basket of fries?” she asked Trent.
Burned (Shenandoah Shadows Novella Book 1) Page 6
