by CW Browning
“How are you feeling?” Blake asked, looking at her.
“Like I’m ready to get out of here,” she replied, glancing up. “I’m all stitched up and they gave me Vicodin for pain, so I’m not feeling much of anything right now. How’s Steph?”
“She just got moved into a room. The doctor said the bullet barely missed her femoral artery. It’s out, but she lost a lot of blood. When she fell, she clocked her head pretty bad. He wants to keep her for a few days to keep an eye on her.”
“Oh, I bet she has something to say about that,” said Angela. “She won’t stay in for a bump on the head and a hole in her leg.”
“I’m sure she will, once she wakes up,” Blake agreed, “but she won’t have a choice. I’m not letting her leave.”
Angela grinned.
“Good luck with that,” she said, going back to her phone. “I’ll put money on Stephanie.”
“I’ll put mine on Blake,” Michael said with a laugh.
“How about you?” Blake asked her.
“I’m just waiting for the doc to sign the discharge papers and I can leave. Although, I don’t know if I want to now. Maybe I should stay with Steph.”
“I don’t think that’s an option,” said Blake with a grin. “It’s not exactly a hotel. You can’t just check in and out.”
“Have you heard from Lina yet?” Angela turned to look at Michael, frowning when he shook his head. “Where the hell is she?!”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you heard anything about the shooting? Either of you? All the news is saying is that someone opened fire at a funeral and the shooter is still at large. How can that be all they know?”
Blake glanced at Michael and caught the look of exasperation in his eyes.
“The news isn’t going to know any more than the police, and that’s all the police know right now.” He shrugged. “You have to give them time.”
“This is absurd. Why would someone start shooting at a funeral anyway?! It’s disrespectful!”
Blake bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“Mmmm,” was all he could trust himself to say.
“I mean, who were they even aiming at?” Angela continued, oblivious. “Obviously they weren’t a good shot. I mean, they hit everything except a person, thank God. Have you heard anything about a possible motive?”
“I don’t know any more than you do,” Blake said. “I left with you, remember? Mike, did you hear anything before you left?”
“Nope.”
Angela looked from one man to the other, her eyes narrowed. They both stared back blandly, and the silence was suddenly very thick.
“What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded after a moment.
Michael’s eyebrows soared into his forehead in surprise.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb,” she snapped. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael muttered, glancing at his watch. “I don’t know any more about this than you.”
“You know something. You’re not even remotely bothered by the fact that someone opened fire at a funeral. That means part of you was expecting it. And you’ve been spending more time looking at your phone, waiting for something, than you have been talking to me. It’s Lina, isn’t it? She’s got something to do with this, and you can’t get hold of her.”
Blake was startled, and he was glad that Angela’s full attention seemed to be focused on Michael at the moment. He looked at the woman in the bed, a new light of respect dawning in his eyes. She was proving to be a lot sharper than he had given her credit for.
“I’m just wondering where she’s disappeared to,” said Michael, looking up. “Forgive me if I’m a little concerned, considering that out of the three of you, she’s the only one unaccounted for.”
“I’ve called her three times,” Angela admitted, the accusing tone leaving her voice abruptly. “It goes straight to voicemail. She’s infuriating. What’s she doing? I’m telling you, she knows something, just like you two.”
“All I know is that when Steph wakes up, I have to somehow convince her to stay put for a few days,” Blake said. “I don’t know what else you think I should know, but that’s my main concern right this second.”
“What about her boss?” Angela asked after a moment. “He was there, right? Is he coming to see her? Maybe he can convince her.”
Blake blinked.
“You know what?” he said, pulling out his phone. “That’s not a bad idea. Rob will make sure she stays put.”
“I’m good for some things.”
“I hate to be the voice of doom over here,” said Michael apologetically, “but isn’t she on LOA? Rob can’t order her to do anything if she’s on leave.”
“Actually, she’s not anymore,” Blake said, hitting speed-dial. “Rob mentioned it this morning before...well, before everything went down. She was supposed to go into the office tomorrow morning for a meeting.”
Michael stared at him, his eyebrows drawn together.
“Just like that? She’s reinstated with no explanation?” he demanded. “What kind of outfit do you Feds run over there?”
Blake glanced at him and held up his hand as he turned away.
“Yeah, Rob? It’s Blake.” He strode out of the room, the phone pressed to his ear.
“That will make Stephanie happy, at least,” said Angela. “She’s been miserable not working. Does it matter why?”
Michael shrugged, his face creased into a frown. A few weeks before, Stephanie was placed on administrative leave of absence following John’s accident. There had been no clear explanation for the action, and Michael knew Alina had some suspicions regarding it. When John passed away, Rob used it as an excuse for Stephanie to remain on leave. Now, suddenly, she was back in the fold? No questions asked? Michael scowled. Something wasn’t right and he didn’t like it.
And what was more, he knew Viper wouldn’t like it either.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Late afternoon sun filtered through the trees as the black luxury SUV rolled along the deserted country road. This stretch of road was always quiet, cutting southwest through Northern Virginia, away from the bustle and craziness of Washington, DC. The driver was used to the route, having made the trip many, many times before. The green rolling hills on either side of the road with their ancient oak trees passed unnoticed by either the driver or the sole occupant of the back seat. The driver glanced at the clock on the dash, then in the rear view mirror. Soundproof glass separated him from his passenger and he noted that he was still engrossed in the flat screen TV. He returned his eyes to the road in front of him
In the back of the SUV, the lone occupant watched the news with only half his attention, his laptop open beside him. While he appeared to be engrossed, his mind was actually split between the updates on his laptop and the news on the screen. All that changed with a simple statement of breaking news. His brows furrowed in consternation as the newscaster switched to their sister-station in Philadelphia. There, a somber brunette took delight in reporting the terrifying ordeal at the funeral of an FBI agent that morning.
His lips pressed together grimly, the reports and updates on the laptop momentarily forgotten as she described how an unknown shooter opened fire inside a church during the funeral mass for Special Agent John Smithe. The shooter fired several shots, hitting another agent and shattering a large statue of the Virgin Mary. No one was killed, but two women were rushed to the hospital and three others were treated on-site for minor injuries. The shooter was still at large, and police and federal authorities were asking for any information from the public.
The passenger stared at the TV. Who the hell went to a funeral and opened fire? He shook his head and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out his cell phone. What was this world coming to? People couldn’t even lay the dead to rest without someone coming along and stirring up trouble. He swiped
his screen and pressed a button, reaching up to slip his Bluetooth onto his ear. The image on the TV moved from the newscaster to footage of a large, gray stone, Cathedral-esque church.
“I’m standing in front of St. Peter’s Catholic Church in Merchantville where, just hours ago, someone opened fire on mourners as they gathered to pay their last respects to Special Agent John Smithe,” a reporter said, motioning to the church behind her. “This was no ordinary shooting. We’re told the gunman was concealed in the organ loft, where he took at least three shots with a high-powered weapon. Those shots weren’t random. Witnesses say the shooter didn’t spray the crowd, but rather seemed to be aiming toward the altar. Thankfully, no one was killed in the attack.”
The camera went back to the studio and the man picked up the remote, muting the TV as the phone in his ear connected.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” he said, glancing out the windows at the sprawling countryside whizzing by. “Have you seen the news?”
“Not yet,” the voice answered. “Why?”
“Someone started shooting at John Smithe’s funeral this morning. Were you there?”
“No. I was in the ER all night. I’ve got staples in my head, and my arm is glued, stitched and bandaged from the wrist to the shoulder,” the voice replied testily. “I’m high on pain meds. I wasn’t going anywhere.”
The man scowled.
“Trent, what the hell are you doing up there?” he demanded. “All you had to do was detain one woman.”
“Have you ever been to Jersey?” Trent snapped. “They’re all insane! The woman attacked me. She stabbed me in the neck and pushed me down a flight of stairs. I managed to get away without her seeing my face, but I still have three stitches in my neck and a concussion from that night.”
“And your arm?”
Trent sighed heavily.
“She’s not staying at her house anymore. She’s been with some guy the past couple days. When they went to the viewing last night, I put a tracker on his truck and followed it. He lives out in the woods in the middle of nowhere. When I was trying to find the way through the trees, a damn owl attacked me.”
The man felt his lips quiver.
“An owl?” he repeated.
“Yes. I assume it was an owl. What else flies around at night? It sure as hell wasn’t a bat. It clawed up my arm and split open my head, then someone shot at me!”
“What?”
“They missed. I got the hell out of there and drove straight to the hospital. It must have been the guy, unless someone was out hunting. I’m telling you, the people up here are a race unto themselves. The nurse at the ER wasn’t even fazed. It’s like people come in with shredded arms all the time.”
The man was silent for a moment, staring out of the window thoughtfully.
“Who’s this guy she’s staying with?” he asked finally. “Her boyfriend?”
“No idea. I met him at the viewing. He sure seemed protective of her,” Trent said slowly, “but he could be just a friend.”
“Well that’s a complication. Can you get her away from him?”
“I tried to talk her into a drink, but she didn’t bite. That’s why I followed them.”
“Figure it out,” said the man, his eyes falling back to the laptop as a new report came into his email. “I didn’t send you up there to fail. I sent you to get her.”
“I’m trying. What happened at the funeral? Who was the shooter?”
“They don’t know. He got away.” The man raised his eyes to the passing scenery again. “I don’t like it though. Get the girl and get her to me. I don’t know what’s going on up there, but we’re running out of time.”
The man disconnected and pulled the Bluetooth off his ear. He tucked his phone into his pocket and turned his attention back to the TV. The news had moved on to weather conditions in the Midwest. His lips tightened angrily and he returned his gaze to his laptop.
This shooter complicated things. There was only one reason someone would hide in an organ loft with a rifle at John Smithe’s funeral, and the fact that they missed presented a huge problem. Viper would disappear now. It was her only option. Any hope he had of finding her location was lost.
“Damn!”
Blake unlocked the door to Stephanie's condo and stepped inside. Buddy reared up, planting his paws on his chest, his tail wagging furiously.
“Yeah, I know, boy,” Blake murmured, rubbing his ears fondly. “Let’s get your leash. It’s been a long day.”
Buddy ran in a circle and watched as Blake picked up his leash from one of the dining room chairs. As soon as he saw it, he tore around in circles again and barked. Blake laughed and hooked it onto his collar.
“Come on,” he said, opening the door again.
Buddy bounded out of the house and dragged him through the alcove and down the sidewalk to the large, grassy courtyard next to the parking lot. As soon as he hit the grass, he went straight for a bush and kicked up his leg, relieving himself of a river.
The sun was fading and Blake yawned. What a day. Rob showed up at the hospital a few minutes after Stephanie woke up. A lively argument ensued when she realized that both her boss and Blake expected her to stay in the hospital. A grin passed Blake’s face. They’d won in the end, but it was a hard win. Ironically, it was Angela who sealed it. She sailed in, discharge papers in hand, and laid such a guilt trip on Stephanie that she finally caved.
Buddy finally lowered his leg and turned to start sniffing around, wandering to the right. Blake followed, the grin fading. Rob was not happy about the events of the morning. Hell, none of them were, but Rob was particularly upset. Not only was one of his men dead, but now his surviving partner had a bullet in her leg. When Blake left the hospital, there was an agent standing guard outside the door of Stephanie's room, and another one at the end of the hall. They would rotate every twelve hours with another pair until Stephanie was released. Rob was taking no chances, and given what Blake now knew about John’s death, he was grateful for the precaution. If Rob hadn’t set agents to watch her, Blake would have stayed himself. In fact, that had been his plan until Rob arranged the guard.
Buddy crouched down, and Blake pulled a plastic bag out of the holder clipped to the leash handle. Stephanie knew the agents were there, and Blake got the impression she was grateful for them, even if she did tell Rob he was being ridiculous. She wasn’t a stupid woman, she knew what happened to John, and knew how precarious her own position now was. She didn’t know yet that the bullet in her leg was meant for her best friend. Blake shook his head.
When she found out, all hell would let loose.
Buddy finished, and Blake bent down with the plastic bag. What a complete mess the whole thing was! When he had left the hospital, Michael was grim, and Angela was almost fit to be tied. Neither had heard from the Black Widow, and both were getting dumped straight into voicemail when they called. Blake straightened up and tied a knot in the bag, turning to walk toward the green trash can at the edge of the courtyard, installed for just this purpose. Perhaps she had finally come to her senses and gone underground. Michael thought it was unlikely and Blake admitted he would be surprised himself, but it was certainly the most logical thing for the assassin to do. You couldn’t be eliminated if you couldn’t be found.
Blake dropped the bag into the trash and turned to walk Buddy across the courtyard and around the complex. How the hell did someone find out about Viper, anyway? Was there a leak in her organization? That was a chilling thought. His brows drew together as he walked, his lips tightening.
A few weeks ago, terrorists not only got into the country, but they managed to smuggle several bombs up the East Coast. They had infiltrated the largest pharmaceutical company in the country, and attempted a biological attack on the United States. Now the very assassin that stopped the whole thing was under attack. No one would ever convince Blake everything wasn’t connected. What the hell was going on?
His phone rang in his pocket, interr
upting Blake’s musings. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. His eyebrows raised in surprise when he saw his boss’s number on the screen.
“Hey Ken,” he answered, holding the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”
“I heard about the shooting up there this morning. I’m checking on you. You ok?”
Blake frowned. While his boss was a good boss, he’d never been a mother hen to any of them. If one of his agents got hurt in the field, he was famous for asking about the blood loss. If it wasn’t a critical amount, he didn’t call.
“I’m fine. My suit didn’t even get wrinkled,” he said. “Did Rob tell you?”
“Yes, and it’s all over the news. Did it really happen inside the church?”
“Yeah. The shooter hid in the organ loft.”
“How’s Agent Walker doing? She was shot in the leg?”
“She’ll be fine. She’s lost a lot of blood and has a concussion. She clocked her head on the marble floor pretty good. They’re keeping her in for a few days to keep an eye on her.”
“Thank God it’s not worse. Rob said it was close to the artery.”
“Yes. She was lucky.”
“Any ideas on the shooter?”
“No. He disappeared in the commotion.”
“Who the hell opens fire at a funeral, for God’s sake!?” said Ken disgustedly. “Especially one filled with Federal agents!”
Blake thought of Michael’s words earlier. He said it was a desperate person, and Blake was inclined to agree.
“That’s what we’re all saying. It’s insane.”
Ken cleared his throat.
“Blake, I know you’ve had a long day, but there’s something we need to discuss. Something’s come up.”
Blake stilled at the tone in Ken’s voice.
