by Alex Ander
Wearing an outfit similar to Devlin’s suit, Randall plopped his butt onto the slatted boards to the marshal’s right and smiled. “We haven’t met. I’m—”
“Simon Patton.”
He distorted his features while bobbing his head. “Sure...we’ll go with that for now.”
Devlin leaned back.
Buster plopped both paws onto her lap and tried licking her face.
She jerked her head away from the pink tongue at the last second. “Do you miss me, boy?” She clutched the mutt’s head and stared into the animal’s eyes. “You wouldn’t betray me, would you? No. You wouldn’t. You’re a good boy.” Devlin cranked her head to the right. “Can you say the same thing, Thorn? Would you betray me?”
The marshal frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Randall pushed the gun deeper into the woman’s side. “She’s talking about the...welcome parties you sent our way.”
“That resulted in...” Devlin pushed Buster off her thighs and made him lie at her feet, “the deaths of three deputy marshals.” Spinning toward her boss, she crossed her legs, laid her arm on the bench behind Thorn’s back, and glared at the elder woman. “Because of you, Blake’s dead.”
Thorn touched fingertips to her chest. “You think I had something to do with that?”
“You sent Blake and me to Mexico.”
“It’s my job...to send you after criminals.”
“Is it also your job to send a goon squad to finish me off when the first attempt goes south?”
Thorn maintained her innocent physical presence.
“I made,” Devlin lifted a finger, “one phone call after the ambush on the road...” she jabbed her boss’s sternum, “to you. The next thing I know I’m surrounded by armed men who obviously had shoot-on-sight orders. Those had to come from you. No one else knew my whereabouts.”
The marshal pivoted to stare at the pond in the middle of the park. The sun’s rays bounced off the water’s still surface. Her mind worked overtime to piece together the events of the last thirty-three hours.
“Why’d you do it, Marissa? Why?”
Thorn gaped at the pond’s fountain that sent outward arcs of water in different directions.
“Answer—” Devlin shouted before glancing around the park. “Answer me.” Her voice was quieter. “Why did you want Blake and me killed?”
“You’re right...” Thorn shifted her position on the wooden slats.
Randall pushed harder on the weapon.
“...about—” she winced and turned his way. “Is that really necessary? You obviously have the advantage here.”
“Careful...if it were up to me—” Randall gave the passing elderly couple a broad smile while crossing his legs to hide the gun. “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
They returned his gesture. “A little warm,” said the old man.
“True, but after that brutal winter, I’ll take it.”
The couple chuckled. “Right you are, young man,” replied the old-timer. “We should be grateful.” The twosome shuffled away.
“Have a good evening.” Confronting his captive, his pleasantness evaporating, Randall slanted to within bad breath distance. “If it were up to me,” he glimpsed the dog, “Buster would already be an orphan.”
Not yielding an inch of personal space, Thorn stared down the man for several seconds and came back to her employee. “You’re right about one thing. I did send a team to your location.”
Clenching her teeth, Devlin felt pressure building inside of her. You bit—
“But not to murder you...I sent an unsanctioned S.O.G. team to pick you up. When the team arrived at the coordinates, they found three bodies, a lot of spent brass, and your smashed cell phone.” She faced forward, placed folded hands on her lap, and shrugged. “Without any solid leads on where you were, I had them return to base before the Mexican authorities caught wind of the illegal op.”
Devlin tilted her head. “Then how do you explain the hit squad? They were at the cabin less than an hour after I called you.”
Thorn ogled the wrought iron benches on the other side of the pool. “There was someone else who knew where you were.”
Devlin uncrossed her legs and sat erect. “Who?”
“The deputy director ordered me to send a couple of my people to Mexico,” she jerked a thumb toward Randall, “to extradite him. The DD told me he’d been tasked with finding a mole in the Marshals Service...”
Devlin and Randall exchanged looks.
“...and that Patton had key information that could expose the traitor. He wanted a tight circle on the prisoner exchange. Even the team I sent to extract you was on a need-to-know basis.”
“So,” Devlin leaned forward and planted forearms on knees, “you’re telling me the deputy director is somehow involved in all this?”
Thorn’s shoulders bounced once. “I don’t know. He kept me in the dark. Every time I pushed for answers, he shot me down. Finally, after the SOG team found your cell at that bullet-ridden shack, I had had enough. I called him and demanded a face-to-face. I told him I wasn’t going forward without more information.”
Standing, Devlin took a couple paces toward the water, removed her cap, and freed her hair with a couple head bobs.
Thorn looked up at her. “You have to believe me, Jessica. I had nothing to do with what happened to you in Mexico. We’re friends. We go back years.”
After jamming the gun into the marshal’s ribcage, “If you try to run,” Randall rose to his feet, leaving his words hanging in the air. He took Devlin by the elbow and led her further away from Thorn. “Do you believe any of this?”
She folded arms over her chest and winced at the scenery. “I’m not sure what, or whom, to believe anymore. I used to know exactly who the bad guys were. My job was to find them and put them away. All this cloak and dagger, spy-like stuff is...” she gaped at the clear water as if it were a cesspool, “none of this stuff is in my wheelhouse.”
He glanced at the seated woman.
Devlin gestured in the same direction. “She’s Cassie’s godmother for crying out loud.”
Randall frowned. “Who?”
Devlin glimpsed him. “Cassandra...my daughter.”
He nodded. “That’s a nice name.”
“How do I bring myself to believe my kid’s godmother plotted to have me killed?” She hung her head and dug fingertips into her temples. Oh, what happened to the good old days? It used to be you knew who the enemy was. He was the one sticking a gun in your face. Now...now the enemy is sticking a knife in your back...while smiling to your face. A tick later, she inwardly snorted. Good old days? What am I...ninety? She shut her eyes. Get your head on straight, Jess. You have a job to do.
Devlin spun right and confronted her partner. “I’m winging it here, Randall. I need something, anything. What’s your take on her? Is she telling the truth?”
He puffed out his chest before exhaling, his wind blowing a lock of hair off her shoulder. “Under the right circumstances, anyone is capable of betraying a friend.” He eyed Thorn. “Personally, I don’t trust her, but,” he wavered, “ultimately, it’s your call. You know her. I don’t.”
Devlin turned away.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t much help to you. But maybe this will be.”
She faced him.
“You trusted me at that shack in Mexico. You gave me a gun and took a chance on me. Now I’m returning the favor. Whatever you decide, Devlin...however this turns out, good or bad...I’m standing by you. I’ve got your back.”
Devlin regarded him for several moments. You’ve known me for all of a day, and you have my back. She flashed a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“You bet. Now what do you want to do?”
She half turned her head and spied Thorn. “We’ve known each other a long time. She was at my wedding. She was at Jon’s funeral. Cassie adores her.”
He bobbed his head. “I get it. She’s like family. It sucks when family betrays you
.”
Devlin’s eyes opened wide. That’s it...family. She squeezed his upper arm. “The CIA trained you to analyze people, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“So do what you were trained to do...read her.” She strode back to the bench.
“Wait. What?” He caught up to her.
“Just tell me,” Devlin held up a forefinger, “one thing, Marissa. Why did you attack my family?”
Thorn’s hardened facade faded for a split second.
“Those men could have killed Cassie.”
Thorn’s jaw slackened.
“She’s your goddaughter. How could you put her in danger like that?”
The marshal scowled. “Jessica, what are you talking about?” She stood. “Has something happened to Cassie? Is she all right?”
“Oh, don’t give me that. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
Thorn cast reciprocating glances at Randall and Devlin before her gaze settled on her subordinate. “Please, Jessica, just tell me Cassie’s okay?”
Devlin studied her boss before eyeing Randall.
He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not reading any deception.”
“You’re sure?”
“Unless she’s trained in counter-interrogation techniques...I think she’s telling the truth.”
“Jessica,” the marshal persisted, “what the hell is going on? Is Cassie all right?”
Devlin faced the woman. “Curt and Cassie were attacked last night.”
The older female covered a gasp with four fingers. “What happened?”
Devlin scrutinized the woman’s reaction, picking apart every detail. He’s right. She doesn’t know anything about it. Her mood lightened. “They’re fine. Curt beat back the assailants and called the police.”
Thorn exhaled and closed her eyes. “Oh, thank God.” A second later, her eyelids popped open, her face stoic. “These incidents are related, aren’t they?”
Devlin nodded. “And I’m convinced whoever orchestrated the hit on my family—”
“Was also behind the ambushes in Mexico.”
“That’s right.” Devlin motioned toward Randall’s pistol. “And since...”
He aimed the muzzle downward and hid the gun under his running jacket.
“...you knew nothing about what happened to my family, I’m now convinced you had nothing to do with whatever’s going on here.” She locked eyes with the marshal. “I’m sorry, Marissa. I just didn’t know who I could trust.”
“I understand. I would have done the same thing.”
“You said you had a meeting with the deputy director?”
“I do.”
“Where and when?”
“Tonight,” Thorn checked her watch, “at nine...at a restaurant in town.”
Devlin turned away and watched the older couple take a bend in the footpath, her mind showing her an image of the deputy director. We still have the advantage. He doesn’t know I’m back. He doesn’t know that Randall’s still alive. We can use that. With Thorn out of the equation as a suspect, Devlin pivoted toward the other two. She eyed Randall, “We need to work our way up the chain of command,” before addressing Thorn. “We’re keeping that meeting tonight.”
The marshal frowned. “Why? What can we possibly hope to gain? The DD isn’t going to just confess.” She held hands out to her sides. “We don’t even know if he’s behind all this.”
Randall folded arms and held his chin. “You’re planning to set a trap.”
Devlin faced him.
“And you plan to use me as the bait.”
“Well,” she smirked, “it’s not my plan. You have the DEA to thank for that.”
He showed amusement at the technicality.
Thorn glimpsed him and Devlin. “I’m not following.”
“If the deputy director is behind this,” said Randall, “then he’ll have no choice. If he thinks I’m alive, with information that could incriminate him, he’ll have to take action.”
“And that action,” Thorn’s face lit up, “will out his involvement.” She nodded. “I think it can work.”
Devlin arched eyebrows at Randall.
Staring at the concrete, he pursed his lips before studying her. “So do I...let’s do it.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 25
Deputy Director
9:27 p.m.
The server, an early thirty-something woman with red hair piled on top of her head, stopped at the table. “Are we still doing okay here?” Her words were flat. The restaurant was nearly empty, and she was bored. Her only two customers received her undivided attention.
Marshal Thorn smiled.
Michael Crane, the Deputy Director for the U.S. Marshals Service, stopped dragging the butter knife across a cinnamon roll. Cocking his head to gape at the woman, he shot daggers at her dark, sunken eyes haloed in black eye liner. She looks like a damn zombie. “For the tenth time in the last five minutes...yes, we’re still doing okay.”
The server stepped back, fidgeting with her hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt. I’ll be back to,” she stopped short, “let me know if you need anything.”
Thorn watched the woman hurry away before gawking at her table partner. You always were a mean S.O.B.
“So how confident are you that,” Crane slathered more butter on the roll, “you’ll get a meeting with the grand jury by tomorrow morning?”
Thorn bobbed her head. “Almost ninety percent. When I said Patton’s life could be in danger, they were more willing to speed things up.” She flipped a wrist to see her watch.
“And this Patton hasn’t,” Crane bit into the roll, tearing the baked good nearly in half, “told you who the mole is?”
She scooted to the end of the bench seat. “He doesn’t know. He says he has information that will lead investigators to the source of the breach.” The marshal stood.
“And he’s with Deputy Marshal Devlin...at a safe house?”
Thorn nodded. “After the attempts on his life, he only trusts her.”
“I can understand that.” Crane lifted the knife toward her. “What’s the rush?”
“I forgot. My security detail is waiting for me outside.”
He arched eyebrows. “Since when do you need a security detail?”
She shook her head. “It’s more of a transport, really. Devlin borrowed my car...until this is over.” She slung her purse. “I’ll keep you posted on any new developments.”
Crane swallowed, forcing the ball of dough down his gullet. “Please do.”
*******
Outside the restaurant, Thorn got into the back of an SUV, slammed the door, and retrieved a cell phone. She hailed the driver. “Take me home, Roger.”
“Yes ma’am.” The deputy marshal merged the Chevrolet into traffic.
She touched the mobile to her cheek. “I just left. I’m heading home.”
In Thorn’s ear, Devlin: “How’d it go?”
“I let plenty of minute details slip during the conversation,” she paused, “including the fact that you’re driving my car. If he’s any kind of detective at all, he’ll be able to track the vehicle to the safe house.” She adjusted her position in the seat, straightening her skirt. “Now, all that’s left to do is wait...to see if he makes a move.”
“We’re ready.”
“I’m not comfortable with this, Jessica.” Thorn spied the city lights passing by her window. “If Crane is the mastermind, he’ll be coming for you with everything he has.”
“I know.”
Silence consumed the communication line for several moments.
“When I was watching the lead S.O.G. agent’s body camera—during the raid on that shack—I don’t mind telling you that my heart was in my throat...as he rolled the body of that dead woman. From behind, she looked just like you.”
More stillness hung on the airwaves.
“I’ve—we’ve—already lost a good agent.” Seeing B
lake Hawkins in her mind, Thorn swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose another one, so you look after yourself.”
*******
Inside the restaurant, Crane finished off a glass of red wine and dug out a phone from his jacket pocket. Seconds later, he cleared his throat. “How soon can you get a couple of teams ready for a strike?”
A male voice from the phone: “Midnight...at the earliest.”
“Good. I’ll have a location for you within the hour.”
“How many targets?”
“Two...one is Deputy Marshal Devlin. Do you think you can handle taking this broad out? I realize,” sarcasm poured out from Crane’s mouth, “it’ll be more difficult than apprehending her six-year-old girl. But, then again, we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”
“The man was more formidable than I had anticipated. I won’t make the same—”
“Spare me your excuses and see to it that you don’t botch this assignment too.”
“Yes sir.”
“One more thing...I need you to—” Crane motioned toward the server standing on the other side of the restaurant.
The skittish woman fumbled inside the apron around her waist before producing a slip of paper and hurrying toward her patron.
“I need you to,” Crane turned back to his meal, “get every scrap of Intel you can on Devlin.” “Dig into her past...relatives, friends, coworkers, anyone she may have crossed paths with in the last few years.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Leverage...in case this Simon Patton proves as hard to kill here, as he did in Mexico.”
*******
After Thorn had clicked off, Devlin did the same and placed the cell phone from Steele on a table.
“So?” Randall thumbed the last cartridge into a magazine before smacking the plastic holder on his palm and laying it next to three of its brethren.
Seated across the table from him, she sat back and folded her arms. “Thorn baited the hook. Now we wait.” She rubbed her eyes. “It shouldn’t take long for them to pinpoint our location.”
He stood, circled behind his chair, leaned on the back, and studied the floor. “They could have a team prepped and ready in,” he tipped his head to one side and then the other, “no less than two hours...maybe three.”
