He drove for a while, the paper in his pocket scalding hot. He tugged it out. Lassiter had always addressed the letter to Angus and then written a quote or combination of quotes from other people. This letter didn’t have a salutation, only a quote in italics.
Slivers of time make up each moment, and only the pale horse and his master prevail in the most crucial of breathy gasps.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Not this shit again.” Finally he exited the interstate. It was past dinnertime, but he wasn’t hungry. Although he should find a burger or something for Roscoe.
A ping echoed, and his back window shattered.
He swerved as more bullets impacted his truck. “Duck, Roscoe.” He shoved the dog onto the floor just as a bullet whizzed by his head, smashing his front window.
Chapter Twelve
Nari kicked her door open while juggling her briefcase in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other. What a mind-dulling day she’d spent at the HR department of the HDD. Maybe she should just start her own practice. She stepped inside her peaceful apartment and dropped her keys and purse on the table by the door before shutting it. Silence—blissful silence—surrounded her.
The exclusive, two-story apartments in her gated community were more like town houses. They were rented by urban professionals who commuted from Virginia into DC, or by retired people who still liked to be involved in the DC whirlwind. The quietness of the area was one of the reasons for the exorbitant price tag.
She kicked off her heels and padded in her stockinged feet beyond the peaceful living room to the adjacent kitchen to set the food on the bar. The muted colors she’d chosen for the first floor provided some comfort, but a big old German shepherd on the white sofa would be better. Where was Roscoe? Did he miss her?
Did Angus?
She rolled her eyes and dumped her briefcase on the floor. Of course he didn’t. Just because they were attracted to each other didn’t mean he actually liked her. Although their night together had been the best of her life and she still had his teeth marks on her lower left buttock. At the thought, her body tingled.
Man, she had to get a grip. It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy eating dinner by herself. Alone on her sofa watching the news. Yeah, right. Maybe she should get a pet.
A noise from the home office adjacent to the kitchen caught her attention. Had she left the darn window open? It had rained earlier and the sill would be wet again.
Another sound. The atmosphere changed. Somebody was in her apartment and she reacted instantly, turning and rushing toward the front door. Her heart sped up and panic nearly tripped her. Hard arms tackled her from behind, propelling them both into the solid metal of the door. Her forehead hit and stars blew up behind her eyes. Crying out, she went down, instinctively pulling up her right knee toward her chest to balance herself and not go flat beneath the attacker.
From behind, he reached around her head and roughly shoved a rag against her nose and mouth.
She yelled for help, her movements faltering as blood thundered loudly in her ears. There was no time to think. She plunged her elbow back into his gut and twisted her head away, sucking in clean air and using her knee as a fulcrum to toss him to the side. He grunted, going over and pulling her with him, his hands rough on her arms.
Her temple hit the side of her entryway table and she fell flat onto her back. Pain lanced down her entire body and her muscles started to freeze. He took advantage and pulled her away from the door, levering himself up and straddling her. He wore all black, including a face mask that covered his entire head. Gloves shielded his large hands and he scrambled for the rag that had fallen on the carpet.
Training kicked in and her mind went blank. Her temples throbbed and her vision blurred, but she pushed the pain away for now. She lifted her knees and planted her feet on the ground, her head ringing. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away. He was over six feet tall and probably around one-eighty. The eyes looked like a fake shade of brown, and they were blank. He found the rag and punched her shoulder, holding her to the ground. Then he brought the rag toward her mouth.
She pressed down with her heels and lifted her torso, twisting to the side and grunting loudly. He tottered on top of her and she reared up, punching him square in the eye in a rapid set of hits that had him howling and trying to avoid her fist. Grunting, sobbing, she scooted her butt back and tried to get out from under him, punching down toward his groin as fast and as hard as she could.
Her back hit the door and she screamed, high and loud.
Surely someone would hear her.
He swore and jumped to his feet, kicking her in the thigh.
Agony ripped up to her hip, but she shoved the table at him. He jumped back and she surged to her feet, dropping into a fighting stance. He rushed her, and she side-kicked his knee, eliciting a pain-filled grunt. He pivoted in a decent move and didn’t go down.
“Nari? Are you okay?” called Mrs. Flannagan, her neighbor, from the front porch area.
The attacker yanked a gun from the back of his waist, his chest heaving. “Say yes.” His voice emerged muffled from the mask.
“Call the police and run,” Nari yelled, the room swirling around her. Bile rose in her stomach. Her vision blurred.
“Damn it. We’re not done, bitch.” The attacker turned and ran through the kitchen and out the back sliding door.
The taste of metal filled her mouth. She turned and tried to open the front door. Her hands slipped off the handle and she tried again, pulling it open. Gasping, she stumbled out and into the arms of Mrs. Flannagan. The elderly woman tried to help her, but the last thing Nari remembered before the world went dark was calling for Angus Force.
* * *
More bullets impacted his truck. Angus gunned the engine and careened down the exit ramp, taking the turn too fast and speeding along the quiet road. Thank goodness he’d chosen a road far away from the DC traffic to find Roscoe a burger. He looked in his rearview mirror while reaching for the gun in his glove box, seeing a navy-blue truck with darkly shaded windows. It looked like two figures were in the vehicle, but he couldn’t be sure.
Roscoe tried to jump up, but Angus pushed him back down and away from the glass littering the seat. “Stay down,” he ordered again, grabbing the gun and looking for the right place to stop.
Mom-and-pop stores lined one side of the road, still quietly busy. A long field lined the other side, but he hadn’t seen a road or even a trail yet. He passed a diner, a tire shop, a pawn shop, and kept going when he saw folks milling around at the businesses. He wouldn’t be responsible for getting anybody else shot.
Apparently the guy behind him agreed because the shooting had stopped. For now.
He glared into the mirror, trying to catch a license plate as he headed deeper into Virginia, twisting and turning on the road. The last thing he wanted was to put himself on the radar of the police, but he’d been with the FBI and the HDD, and that meant something. He flipped over his phone and dialed 911.
A barrel poked out of the passenger side of the truck behind him. He ducked down as far as he could in his seat and sped up even more, stiffening when the operator asked what his emergency was.
“This is Angus Force—” A bullet impacted his back tire, causing the truck to skid. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep control of the vehicle. Roscoe barked from his perch.
“Down. All the way down,” Angus commanded, just in case they collided. The dog scrunched down all the way, his nose no longer visible. At least he knew when to obey.
“Sir? What is happening, sir?” the operator asked, her voice still calm.
“I’m former FBI and HDD and I’m being engaged by two people in a navy-blue Ford truck, no license plate in front.” He reached a semistraight part of the road and grabbed the steering wheel with his left hand, turning to fire out his window with his right. He gave the operator his location.
The truck swerved behind him.
“We have units close,” the
woman said. Less than a heartbeat later, sirens trilled from the direction in which he was heading.
The passenger behind him shot again, hitting his other tire. The truck jerked, and he tried to pull over, but the vehicle wouldn’t cooperate and he plowed into a tree. The airbag exploded into his face and he fought it, kicking his door open. He fell to the ground and leaned against his hissing car, trying to make the world stop spinning.
Digging deep, he edged to the back of the truck and spotted the taillights of the blue truck in the distance. He dropped his arm. “Roscoe?” His face felt as if it was on fire.
Roscoe jumped out of the truck, scattering more glass.
Angus slid down to his butt on the wet grass. “You okay?”
Roscoe moved toward him gracefully, his eyes clear; there was no blood on him. He licked the side of Angus’s face, and pain flared. Angus patted his head. “Sit for a minute, buddy.” Blood dripped into his eye and he wiped it away.
The sirens grew louder.
A Virginia State Police car skidded to a stop and a uniformed police officer jumped out, gun ready.
Angus lifted his hands and left his gun on the ground. “The bad guys went that way,” he said warily, putting his head back on the demolished truck.
The cop spoke into his radio and then scouted the area before approaching. “Do you require medical assistance?”
“No,” Angus said wearily.
“Kick your gun this way, sir. Now.” The kid had to be about twenty and was built like a farm boy. Blond hair, thick shoulders, serious eyes.
Angus reached for the barrel with two fingers. “How about I toss it?” The cop stiffened, and Angus flipped the gun close to the officer’s feet, so he could kick it behind himself.
“Thanks. Do you have any other weapons?” the cop asked.
“No,” Angus lied. He had a gun in his boot and a knife in his back pocket.
“Thanks. Now an ID?” The cop was good.
Angus twisted to reach for the wallet in his back pocket, and pain lashed down his side. He groaned and pulled out the worn leather, then threw it to the cop. He gingerly felt along his rib cage. Bruised but not broken.
The cop opened his wallet, took out his ID, and called it in. “Again, do you want me to request an ambulance?”
“No,” Angus said.
An unmarked tan car, sirens twirling, zipped to a stop. Two detectives, one male and one female, exited the vehicle. Did the cops in this town have nothing else going on?
Angus tossed his phone next to his knee. “I just need to call—” He stopped, staring at the innocuous device. Who did he need to call? He no longer had a team, and they all thought he’d left town. He couldn’t call Wolfe. Nari? No. She wasn’t his girlfriend, and she also thought he’d skipped town. He’d have to deal with HDD tomorrow. He sure as shit didn’t want to tonight. Tate was a possibility, but Angus had already messed up his life enough.
“Sir?” the cop asked, shielding his weapon.
“I don’t have anybody to call,” Angus said, his chest hurting more than his face. He snorted. Then he chuckled. “Not a damn person.”
Roscoe whimpered and put his jaw on Angus’s thigh.
Angus ignored the pain and petted the dog’s head, offering some comfort. “I could call Jethro,” he murmured. But no. He’d sent Jet back to the ivory tower of academia, and he really needed to let his friend find some peace. “Nope. Guess it’s just you and me, boy.” He rested his hand on the thick fur, his body feeling hollow.
The female detective took the lead. She was about fifty, with curly black hair and sharp blue eyes. “Your ID came back, and we’ll have to notify HDD. Let’s go to the station so you can make a statement.”
Angus sighed. It was procedure, but he’d had enough with interview rooms today. His phone buzzed, and he accepted the call on speaker. “Force.”
“Um, hello. Is this Angus Force?” a female voice asked.
He stiffened. “Yes. Who is this?”
“This is Sally Weston from North Valley Hospital. You’re listed as her boss and an emergency contact for Nari Zhang.”
Angus went cold. “Is Nari okay?” He pushed to his feet and the world spun.
“She’s injured and is here after an attack, so I’m notifying you.”
Angus limped toward the detectives, heat now flashing down his arms and then up his neck to burn his ears. “I’m on my way.” He clicked off. “You can interview me en route to North Valley Hospital—which is where I need to go. I’ll tell you everything, but I need a ride now.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nari sat on the examination table as the doctor finished stitching up the wound along her hairline. The myriad of HDD agents who had descended on the hospital had finally dispersed, reassured that one of their own was okay. At times like this she remembered why she liked working for the agency.
Vaughn stood in the corner and finished typing on his tablet. “I’ll have agents rotate security for your apartment until we find this guy.”
In that second she remembered why she’d originally liked him.
He looked up, his gaze veiled. “Special Agents Fields and Rutherford have checked in and volunteered for rotation. I take it you made friends?”
Not exactly. “Rutherford offered, too?” she asked, her head still ringing.
“Yes.”
Well, maybe the straitlaced agent wasn’t so bad.
“We’ll need to go through all your cases to see who might’ve wanted to attack you,” Vaughn said, setting his tablet aside.
“I already told you. There’s a copycat serial killer, and it looks like he’s targeted my former team. We need Angus Force on this.” Just saying his name made her body hurt worse. She actually had no clue where Angus was, darn it. His cabin was somewhere in the Kentucky wilderness, and he probably wasn’t even home yet. Maybe he’d gone to Vegas for a weekend of debauchery to forget his problems. It was shocking how badly she wanted him to come charging in and taking over in that way he had.
The doctor finished. “You have a minor concussion, but so long as you don’t get dizzy or vomit, you should be okay in a couple of days.” The woman turned and walked out of the room, taking off her gloves as she did so.
Quan strode in at that moment and she barely concealed a groan. That was all she needed.
He looked her over, his dark eyes sharp. Tonight he wore gray slacks with a light-green shirt, and the scent of aftershave reached her. Had he been on a date? “You are all right?”
Nari nodded. His concern almost warmed her. “Yes. I’ve made a report and agents are canvassing my apartment complex.”
Quan turned toward Vaughn. “I’m sorry you had to be called in on this. Weren’t you at the fundraiser for Senator Jones?”
Vaughn nodded. “My date is handling things, and I’ll return when I’m finished here.” He was the perfect agent, wasn’t he? “I think this is a problem left over from that subpar team Nari was on.” Was that a smirk? Yep. That was a smirk. Oh, yeah. That’s why she’d broken up with him.
Quan sighed. “Yes. I figured.” He glanced at his watch, no longer paying attention to Nari. So much for parental concern. Her shoulders sagged. “Why don’t you return to the fundraiser? I’ll handle things here,” he said.
“This thing can handle herself,” Nari said before she could bite back the words.
Both men turned to look at her.
Vaughn straightened. “It was a good fight. You taught her well, sir.”
“My mom and my dad taught me to fight. Mom’s family owns a series of martial arts gyms, and she’s amazing,” Nari said, keeping her gaze on Quan. It wasn’t as if he’d been all that involved in her life. “My dad is an ex-marine and he’s a tough guy. Hopefully you can meet him someday, Vaughn. He won’t like you.”
Vaughn apparently caught the tension because he edged toward the door. “All right. I should get back. Nari, take tomorrow off. If you’re feeling up to it, report to work on Monday.” He exited th
e room.
Quan shook his head when they were alone. “Must you be so emotional?”
Emotional? She’d just been attacked by a psycho in her own home. Her head hurt, her body ached, and she just wanted to crawl into bed and stay there for the next three days. “Please, Quan. You’re smothering me with your concern and kindness,” she drawled.
His chin lifted and irritation crossed his face. “This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t had to reassign you to that team for a brief time.”
“You’re blaming me for this?” she snapped, rearing up and then instantly regretting it as her left hip vehemently protested.
“Nari?” Angus ran into the room, blood covering half his face.
Nari froze. He came. For her. She focused on him. “What happened to you?” His shirt was torn, and it looked as if glass was stuck in the thigh of his jeans.
Roscoe ran in next and jumped from the door to the examination table, landing at the edge and sliding toward her.
“Roscoe,” she cried happily, grabbing him for a hug and burying her face in his thick fur. Tears finally filled her eyes, but she hid them, clinging to the dog like a little girl with a stuffed animal. She breathed in as he panted against her. She blinked away the tears before looking at the men again.
“Sir? You can’t have that dog in here.” A harried-looking nurse with wildly curly white hair hustled in. “No pets.”
Angus stared at Nari as if taking inventory of her hurts. “He’s a service animal and he’s a member of Homeland Security.” He didn’t look away from Nari, and his eyes burned an unholy green. “She’s Homeland Security; I was, but I don’t know who the guy against the counter is.” It didn’t much sound like he cared, but even in the moment, he remembered to hide the existence of the HDD.
The nurse faltered, and then noise came from the hallway. She threw up her hands and turned on her white tennis shoe to disappear out the door.
Angus limped toward Nari and reached for her chin, lifting it. “How bad are you hurt, sweetheart?”
Driven Page 10
