The first drone was picking up movement inside the cafeteria.
“I’ll let you kick my ass when we get back to Quantico but right now, fly the second drone to the observation slit while these guys are distracted.”
They’d picked the location out earlier based on the fact it would get the greatest noise distortion from Eban fucking Winters talking through the bullhorn. Fucker. The slit they’d chosen wasn’t in the direct line of sight to where the negotiators had set up through the thick stand of trees and where the guards were most likely to be keeping a close watch.
And perhaps Eban Winters wasn’t the only fucker here.
Novak had seen Charlotte’s injured expression when he’d said they should cool it. And, as she’d been the one to make all the moves so far, why should she be the one to tell him, that no, they shouldn’t fucking cool it. That, in fact, they should keep the burner turned all the way up on this thing that was going on between them because he hadn’t had sex like they’d had last night since he was in his late teens. And he hadn’t felt this emotionally wrecked since his wife dumped him.
They’d clicked.
As bizarre as it seemed, her easy-going calm was the perfect complement to his default grim. And whereas a few days ago he’d thought her low-key diplomacy was a cop out, now he knew she was as determined as he was to help make the world a safer place. Unfortunately, the other thing they had in common was a will of iron.
There was no way in hell she’d make the next move. Not now.
To have any kind of chance, he needed to fix what had gone wrong between them. Except then what? Was he really ready for a serious relationship again? Part of him craved it, but was it worth the all-consuming holistic pain? Hell, no. His ex had destroyed the fantasy of coupledom for him. He should content himself with being grateful for the scorching bedroom antics last night. Instead he was down-to-the-bone miserable.
He wanted more.
And was too scared to go after what he wanted.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. The negotiator was the one with the bigger balls in their personal skirmish.
He turned his attention to the monitors.
Romano was struggling to fly the drone through a two-inch gap in the blustery wind. The guy was completely focused on his task, and Novak realized something serious was kicking off in the cafeteria.
Novak backed away from the table so he didn’t distract Romano and called McKenzie.
“You need to get over here. Now.”
“Drone’s inside.” Despite the coolness of the barn, sweat dripped down the side of Romano’s face.
“Good job.” Novak braced his hands on the table and stared at the screen. “Start searching the lower levels for explosives while most of them are occupied in the canteen. Let me know immediately if you find anything.”
“What have you got?” McKenzie strode up to him.
“Some sort of meeting. Doesn’t look friendly.”
“Turn it up. Let’s hear what they have to say.”
“I think we should get Charlie team back here and Echo team up on the hillside.” Novak did not like the look of this mob. He especially did not like the idea of Charlotte being up on that hillside even with SWAT for backup.
“Scramble Echo team into position but let’s listen to what’s going on before we call back Charlie,” McKenzie overrode him.
But Novak knew what things looked like when something was about to go south. It looked like an angry mob in an underground bunker. It looked exactly like this.
Chapter Thirty-One
TJ strode toward the communal kitchen with a growing sense of fury. He could hear raised voices and shouting, including his father’s voice.
When he walked in the room, everyone went silent. The only noise was the constant sound of the bullhorn the cops had started using about thirty minutes ago. It was already grating on his nerves.
“And here’s the little prince. The bastard that started it all.” Malcolm stood on a table and jeered at him.
Anger seared TJ. He twisted away as one of Malcolm’s friends went to grab him and next thing he knew, his dad was by his side with his hands raised.
Thankfully, people still respected Tom Harrison enough to listen to what he had to say, so they quieted down.
“My late wife and I gave you shelter when no one else would help you.” He cocked his head and stared at people individually. Most of them had the grace to look ashamed. He put his hand on TJ’s shoulder. “We shared our food and our home with you. Built you beds to sleep on. Provided heat for your rooms. A safe place for your children to grow up. And you repay me with this? Wanting to kick my son out to the very authorities most of you are running from?”
His voice didn’t get louder, but the condemnation was clear.
“Isn’t safe if we’re living with no murderer.”
“TJ is no murderer.” His dad tried to talk sense into them.
It didn’t work.
Malcolm waved a white piece of card at them. “The Feds are gonna storm the gates if we don’t give them what they want.”
“How about we start with whoever shot the wildlife officer and deputy?” Tom countered.
“How about we start with whoever killed Brenna Longie.” TJ’s voice rang out through the space.
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along you little cur,” Malcolm sneered.
TJ stared at Malcolm until the other man faltered. “I know what you did. I know you’ve been stealing our gold. I know you killed Brenna Longie. I know it, and I’ve got proof!” TJ yelled as all hell broke loose.
His dad grabbed his arm. “Time to go, TJ.”
TJ wanted to confront Malcolm further, but it was clear no one believed a word he said.
“Now!” His dad dragged him out of the room, and they started jogging down the steps.
Malcolm yelled after them, “You can run, but there’s nowhere to hide. I’m coming for you.”
His dad was full-on sprinting now and had his key out and in the lock. TJ dove inside and helped hold it closed while his dad flipped the deadlock.
Someone started banging on the metal portal.
“What about the spare keys in the office?” TJ asked suddenly.
“I swapped it out a couple weeks ago when I realized Malcolm was sneaking in here and trying to break open the safe.” Tom applied the other bolts and nodded with satisfaction. “Go grab the packs and lock every door securely on the way back. It won’t hold them forever, but it’ll hold them for long enough.”
TJ wasn’t sure how they were going to escape, but there wasn’t time for questions.
“Did you know he’d been stealing our gold?” TJ asked as he hefted the two heavy packs and locked the door between the living room and the kitchen.
“I knew he wanted to but hadn’t realized he’d found any of it.” Tom strode into the bathroom and grabbed a crowbar out of the linen cupboard. He inserted it into a narrow gap between marble slabs that formed the floor. “Grab the other side of this.”
TJ did so and together they slid the heavy marble slab to one side. Directly below ran a two-foot-wide drainage pipe.
“I added this when I installed the tub for your mother and figured it wouldn’t hurt to have an emergency escape no one else knew about.” Tom slipped into his winter jacket.
TJ swallowed. “Where does it come out?”
“Top of the hill. I covered the top with grass seed years ago so it might take some lifting, but it’s our best chance of getting out of here alive.”
“You really think they want to kill me? Malcolm is the one who must have killed Brenna.”
Tom glanced at him but didn’t say anything.
“Kayla’s alive, Dad.”
“Kayla?”
“The girl I’m seeing.”
His dad smiled almost sadly and patted his arm. “I’m glad, son. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
TJ grabbed his dad’s arm. “Won’t the FBI pick us up as soon as we exit t
he tunnel?”
“Snow’s started now. We’re in for a hell of a blizzard.” Tom shook his head. “Climb on down, son. I need to slide the slab back into place so they don’t know where we went.”
The banging on the door was getting louder as if they were using a battering ram.
TJ tossed the crowbar into the tunnel and shimmied headfirst down the tight space, dragging his pack behind him until there was room for his father to climb in after him. He heard the heavy scrape of stone across stone. As soon as the slab settled into place, darkness pressed down upon him. The drain smelled like musty earth, icy dirt. It smelled like a frigid grave.
He put on his headlamp and started crawling one inch at a time through the pipe heading uphill.
“Drain goes under the other exit, but we might need to dig our way through if the explosives damaged it,” Tom said behind him. The words echoed eerily.
Great. Panic expanded through TJ’s lungs and his body. How had his world morphed into this nightmare in the space of a few short days? He forced the terror and the alarm out of his mind. Concentrated instead on moving his large frame through the narrow pipe toward the exit.
It was fine. Everything was fine.
Even when he got to a pile of dirt, he didn’t allow the fear to intrude. He pushed the panic to one side. Concentrated on the next breath. His father passed him his collapsible shovel, and he started digging his way through loose soil that had fallen through a crack in the side of the pipe.
Everything is fine. Everything was going to be fine. His dad always had a plan.
* * *
Kayla listened at the door for a long moment. The whole house was so quiet that every creak and groan of the wooden beams resonated through the peaceful space and echoed off the walls.
None of which helped her.
She glanced around and noticed the TV. She turned it on and then climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
The agent who’d been assigned guard duty popped his head in after a few minutes.
“Feeling okay?” he asked.
He seemed nice and reminded her of her old geography teacher from back in Pittsburg.
She nodded. “I was bored. Do you mind if I watch something? Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all.”
“I think I’ll take a bath in a little while.”
He nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
She swallowed. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
She found a particularly clappy-clappy talk show but didn’t put the volume so high that it would disturb anyone. It helped disguise her movements. She went into the bathroom and started running the faucets, adding bubble bath that sat on the shelf.
Then she went back to the window and opened it up, applying a little force that produced a noise that made her freeze. The agent didn’t seem to have heard. She shivered at the frigid blast, but she couldn’t let the discomfort deter her. A cause worth fighting for was a cause worth suffering for.
The pitch of the roof was steep, and snow swirled around as the wind gusted. She really didn’t want to do this.
She moved a chair beneath the window, grabbed the knickknacks off the sill, and put them on the bookcase so she didn’t break anything or make a noise. Then she ran back and turned off the taps, pulling the bathroom door shut behind her. Back in the bedroom, she moved as quietly as possible. Climbing onto the sill using the chair and then crawling out onto the roof.
Oh God. Her stomach lurched as if she was on a rollercoaster. Immediately, the wind snatched at her hair, effectively blinding her. She shuffled along carefully, the shingles scraping her palms and knees.
The icy-cold took her breath. She twisted back and closed the window behind her, grateful it was old fashioned enough not to have a mechanical winding mechanism. Instead it shut snugly due to the amount of paint on the woodwork.
She made her way gingerly along the steep rooftop, trying not to make any noise in case people were sleeping inside and realized there was someone on the roof.
She froze when she saw the big man who’d accompanied Charlotte yesterday, the one who’d carried her out of the tent and brought her back here. She was completely visible should he look up, though she wore black and gray like the roof tiles and stayed perfectly still beside a chimney stack. She held her hair down, leaning back until she was pressed flat against the roof near the brickwork of the stack.
Novak—she remembered his name—opened the barn door, and another man came out leading two horses. The snow was thick now and getting thicker by the second. She stayed perfectly still as Novak closed the barn door and then climbed onto one of the horses. The two men rode away, and she knew this was her chance. She crawled across the roof and came across an open window. Kayla’s teeth chattered as she lifted the latch and opened the window wide, praying there was no one in the room. She climbed inside, holding on to the frame so the wind didn’t catch it. She eased the window closed behind her and slid slowly to the floor.
Her heart pounded.
Her hands were already numb, as was her face.
Quickly, she rifled through the case that sat on the floor. She pulled off the thick sweatshirt and pulled on another long-sleeved t-shirt and a thin black sweater that felt as soft as cashmere. Then she pulled the sweatshirt back on again. She spotted sneakers in the corner of the room. They were a size too big so she pulled on another pair of thick socks and tried again. Not perfect but not bad.
Her hands hesitated over the windbreaker and ball cap. Both had “FBI” emblazoned on them in thick yellow letters and wearing them was probably illegal unless it was Halloween. The problem was, there was no way she’d survive long without something to cut out the wind.
She tied her hair into a thick pony at the nape of her neck, pulled on the cap, and grabbed the jacket. She had no idea if TJ had a way to get out of the place where he lived or not. He’d always alluded to sneaking out, but she didn’t know exactly what that meant. She’d added the bit about meeting her at their tree in the hopes he could do that. He’d understand as soon as he saw her message and, if he could, he’d be there.
She needed to know what had gone down. They’d figure out what to do after that. When he’d told her what had happened on the mountain with Brenna, she’d bring him back here and get him to talk to Charlotte, and pray she wasn’t making a massive error in judgment.
But TJ wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t.
Kayla listened at the door for a slow count of ten. Then she headed out, acting confident and focused as if she belonged here and had a very important job to do. She walked softly down the corridor, down the stairs, and outside into the storm.
* * *
Charlotte glanced up at the burgeoning sky. The thing that kept bothering her was Brenna’s missing camera. A woman might lose a hat or gloves, but a photographer would never mislay her camera.
Charlotte had checked the evidence logs, and a camera had not been found in the tent or the car. She glanced up at the sky again and knew this would be her last chance to search for it before spring. Bob Jones hadn’t recalled seeing a camera before he’d been shot either.
What if the camera had photographs of Brenna’s killer on it? How would that be for evidence?
Eban was still on the bullhorn with Max supporting him. Dominic was manning the phone back at the Command Center with the other negotiators. She felt surplus to requirements. Everyone knew exactly what they were doing. Until something changed, they didn’t need her. Even then, the negotiators here were the best of the best. McKenzie’s edict that she “oversaw” them left her basically jobless until these people started communicating with them.
At least when she and Novak had been shadowing each other, they’d helped move the case forward. Out here on the mountain, she couldn’t even do that.
Truman paced nearby. He was acting as her assistant today and looked equally frustrated.
She stood. “Let’s go quickly scout the crime scen
e perimeter where we found Brenna Longie’s body and look for her camera.”
Truman frowned and stared up at the sky. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” He shot her a look. “Plus, SSA Novak might rip me apart if anything happens to you.”
So he’d noticed something had changed between them. Something seismic.
“This is none of SSA Novak’s business.” The bitterness that dripped from her tone had Truman frowning. Charlotte looked away. She wasn’t ready to acknowledge that Novak had caused her pain. Not publicly. Inside was another matter. Inside was a festering mass of insecurity and hurt that would take time to purge.
She started walking, and Truman quickly caught up. “I want to walk a grid pattern another twenty-five feet outside the tape in case Brenna dropped her camera and ran when she was attacked.”
They could see clearly through the trees, but a thin layer of snow was already accumulating on the ground. She made a call to SWAT to warn them they were going to be in that area for a few minutes, not wanting to be arrested or shot.
When they reached the crime scene tape, she mentally marked her starting point, and she and Truman began walking in opposite directions in a systematic pattern, eyes glued to the ground.
Truman’s sat phone rang. She looked up as he answered.
He jogged around to meet her. “McKenzie is on his way and wants us there to meet him.”
Charlotte glanced around in frustration. They’d already covered about a fifth of the territory she wanted to search. “You go. I’ll be twenty minutes behind you.”
“I can’t leave you here alone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I know the way back. I want to finish up here first.” She wanted to find that camera. “It won’t take long.”
Truman still looked unsure. “What if there’s a whiteout?”
Cold Wicked Lies: A gripping romantic thriller that will have you hooked (Cold Justice - Crossfire Book 3) Page 27
