by Katie Reus
“Hey, Jordan, I was just thinking about you.”
“This isn’t Jordan. My name’s Vincent Hansen and I’m sure you know who I am.” As Jordan’s handler, this woman would know everything about Jordan’s life pre-WITSEC and that definitely included him. Not to mention he was pretty sure someone had helped her out in locating him.
“What’s wrong? Why are you calling from Jordan’s phone? Where is she?” The woman’s soft voice instantly became hard, the change immediate.
“She’s right next to me and what’s wrong is that someone tried to fire bomb her and me last night and then this morning, her fucking car exploded. Now why don’t you tell me what the fuck is going on? Did Curtis Woods have more friends or relatives you idiots forgot to tell her about? This isn’t some random act of violence and I want to know every fucking thing about the Woods’s case. Now!” He was full on shouting, unable to contain his anger any longer. He knew he should be a hell of a lot more diplomatic instead of pissing this woman off, but he felt like a powder keg. Keeping his cool and staying in control was never a problem—unless Jordan’s life was in danger.
“Is Jordan all right?” There was real concern in the woman’s voice.
It was the only thing that tempered Vincent’s anger. “She’s fine, though she’s glaring daggers at me right now.”
Jordan leaned against the outer kitchen counter, watching him restlessly pace along the tile floor.
“Can you tell me exactly what happened? Are the police involved?”
“We made a report with Detective Leon Hough of the Key West Police Department last night, but then I was operating under the assumption the firebomb was a random act. A driver on a moped threw a Molotov cocktail at us. Her car, however, was just bombed or rigged to explode about five minutes ago. We’re holed up in a condo and not leaving until the police have arrived and cleared the area.” And he was armed. He already had one weapon tucked into the back of his pants but he’d also retrieved another one and had strapped it to his ankle. “Jordan was under the impression that Curtis Woods and his only living relative were dead. Is that not the case?”
There was a slight pause. “We didn’t conduct the investigation of Corey Woods’s death. That was done by the Abilene PD and we had no reason to believe their assessment was wrong.”
Vincent snorted. “Clearly you guys missed something because someone wants Jordan dead. Two violent attacks in a twenty-four hour period—not a coincidence.”
“I’m going to personally check with the Abilene PD and I’m also sending someone to pick Jordan up until we figure this out.”
“Over my dead body. She’s not going anywhere with you.” Unless she agreed, there was no way they could force her into custody either. Vincent kept his gaze on Jordan as he spoke, daring her to defy him. He would kidnap her to keep her safe if he had to. He’d lost her once, he wasn’t doing it again.
Jordan swallowed hard and didn’t respond. And damn it, he couldn’t get a good read on her emotional state. Her hazel eyes were filled with worry and fear, but something else he couldn’t define.
“Mr. Hansen—”
“Save it. As soon as we’re able, I’m getting her out of here and we’re headed someplace safe. Call her if you need to, but she’s not going anywhere with you.”
The US Marshal was silent for a long moment. Finally she spoke, her words clipped. “I’d like to speak with Jordan. I need to know she’s safe.”
Though he didn’t want to, he handed the phone to her.
At least her hand wasn’t shaking when she took it. Almost resignedly, she put it up to her ear and started talking. Even though she was clearly upset, Jordan stood by what he’d said and told her former handler that she was staying with Vincent.
The knowledge that she wasn’t fighting him, that she was willing to stay, soothed something primal inside him. No one would protect her like he could. First, he needed to get her the hell out of here. Then he was calling in for backup.
The second she ended the call, Jordan turned to face him and he could see an argument building inside her before she’d even spoken. “I can’t bring any more danger on top of your head, Vincent. I told her no, but Edith is right. Maybe I—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he snarled, covering the short distance between them. He didn’t want to hear it. Gripping her slim hips, he tugged her close so that they were toe to toe.
She spread her hands over his chest, the worry in her gaze tearing him apart. “I’d die if anything happened to you because of me.” Her words were a bare whisper of agony.
Instantly, the anger that had been building inside of him eased. She was worried about his safety. He couldn’t get mad about that. “I know how to protect both of us. I’m taking you someplace safe so we can regroup and come up with a game plan.” One that didn’t involve hiding or running back to Miami. Not until they figured out who they were up against. “Go pack your bags. Get everything together because we’re not coming back here.”
“Vincent…” For a long moment it seemed as if she might argue, but she just leaned up on tiptoe and lightly brushed her lips over his. “Thank you,” she murmured before hurrying down the hallway.
He started to follow after her when there was a hard knock on the door. Before he’d taken two steps, someone said, “Police, open up.”
Vincent had known the cops would be talking to everyone in the building, he just hadn’t expected them to reach their condo so soon. After peering through the peephole, some of his tension eased. He opened to door to Detective Hough and a uniformed policeman.
He nodded once. “Detective.”
The older man looked past him, down the hallway. “When I got the address of the bombing, I headed over. Recognized it as the complex where Ms. Alvarado was staying.”
Vincent glanced down at the parking lot to where firefighters had the blaze almost extinguished and the police had cordoned off the entire area with yellow tape. There were at least a hundred onlookers across the street and people from the condos had stepped out onto their front balconies and were staring at the scene in horror and curiosity. “It’s her car that was bombed. We need to talk. Alone.” He looked pointedly at the uniformed officer, who frowned in response.
But one look from Detective Hough had the man backing down. Hough nodded and stepped forward. “Let’s talk.”
“You want some coffee, Detective? It’s already made,” Vincent said as he shut the door behind him.
“Sounds good. Where’s Ms. Alvarado?”
Jordan’s head popped out of her room. “I’m in here packing. Vincent…” She trailed off but there was a question in her eyes.
He nodded, understanding her completely. It had always been like that between them. Sometimes they could communicate without saying a word. Of course now it didn’t take a psychic to figure out what she needed. She wanted him to deal with the police. “I’ve got this covered.”
Relief flooded her expression before she disappeared back in the room.
“You guys going somewhere?” the Detective asked casually, though there was nothing casual in his rigid stance.
“As soon as we can pack. Jordan was in WITSEC for seven years.” Vincent decided not to play games with the man. Getting right to the point was the smartest thing he could do in this situation and it would likely ensure more cooperation. Hough had been straight with him so far.
The other man’s dark eyebrows rose at that and he motioned to the coffee pot as they entered the kitchen. “You mind?”
Vincent shook his head and started gathering the plates. “What’s the situation like down there?”
He shrugged. “Ordered chaos. We’ve got it under control, and the bomb dogs have secured the parking lot and are in the process of doing the same to the perimeter and the building, but the locals are freaking out. The news stations will be descending soon if they’re not already here. So, that was Ms. Alvarado’s vehicle? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t know
who did it though.” But he planned to find out. Vincent hurriedly gave the detective a rundown of everything he’d learned so far; from Jordan’s years in WITSEC, to the names of the man she’d put behind bars and his alleged accomplice brother—who may or may not be dead. Since she’d left the program of her own free will and the man she’d put behind bars was dead, Vincent was almost a hundred percent certain he was legally allowed to divulge this information. Especially since she’d come clean to all her friends about her real identity. Even if he hadn’t been allowed to, he would have told him because the detective might be able to help Jordan. That was all that mattered.
When Vincent was done, Hough was silent for a long moment as he digested everything. “You spoke to the Marshals?”
“Yeah. They don’t know what they missed, but her handler is scrambling to look into it. I’ll give you her information, but we’re leaving as soon as we can. I want Jordan away from here.”
That information didn’t seem to please Hough, but he nodded. “You leaving town?”
“No, I’m taking her to my place. You’ve got the address in your file. It’s more secure and until we get a handle on this situation, I don’t want to just blindly run out of town.”
“You’ll have to make an official statement about her vehicle, but I’ll take care of that. I’ll also have an officer escort you out of here. Often bombers like to stick around and look at their handy work, so we’ve got eyes on the area.”
Vincent nodded, already knowing that. Bombers, arsonists, and even serial killers loved to see law enforcement scrambling amidst the destruction and chaos they’d caused. They got a thrill from it. It was like sick-fuck 101—they all subscribed to the same messed up handbook. “Fine with me. As soon as she’s done, it’ll take me a few minutes to get my stuff together.”
The detective’s radio went off with a request for assistance. After a brief reply, the man set his half empty coffee mug in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll leave an officer outside. When you’re ready let him know and we’ll get you guys out of here. Just…whatever you’re planning, let us handle it.”
Vincent kept his expression purposefully blank. “I’m not planning anything other than keeping Jordan safe. I don’t know who did this and I’m not going to take the law into my own hands.” Much. He wasn’t going to sit idly by and let this threat come to them. Hell no, he had resources and wasn’t afraid to use them.
Even though he nodded, Detective Hough still looked skeptical. Once the man was gone, Vincent found Jordan in her bedroom making her bed.
“I’m going to hire someone to come in and clean and do laundry once we’re gone because I’m not leaving Barbara’s place like this, but I think I’ve got everything packed up.” She nodded to the two red suitcases and matching toiletry case at the foot of the bed.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. She was worried about cleaning when someone had just decimated her car. “Good. Give me a few minutes and we’ll clear out of here.”
* * * * *
Stupid fucking blasting caps! Unsure exactly what had gone wrong with the bomb, in the end, it didn’t really matter. The fact was, Jordan’s car had exploded way too early and without any provocation and that stupid bitch hadn’t been in it. In fact, no one had been injured if the layout of the crime scene was any indication.
Cops, firefighters and other men and women in suits who could be with any number of government agencies all milled around the bomb site, but the ambulances hadn’t left and no one was being treated. And the medical examiners had already come and gone—without any corpses.
Killing extra civilians would have been somewhat appeasing since Jordan hadn’t been injured, but even that hadn’t happened. Working without a partner was too hard. Especially when said partner had been the bomb and fire expert. Fire was so beautiful and erotic to watch, but getting it right was just too damn difficult. Maybe it was time to recruit another partner.
It would sure beat working alone.
Blending in with the crowd of tourists and locals across the street was easy enough, but it was never smart to stay for too long. The cops would be watching for anything out of the ordinary and might even take pictures of the onlookers.
And I’m not getting caught by those pigs.
Besides, tracking Jordan with her cloned phone was easy enough, so if she left the condo—and it was likely she and half the residents would be clearing out by the end of the day—she still couldn’t hide.
Nope. No matter where Jordan went, tracking her was child’s play. Soon enough, she was going to find out what real suffering was. The car bomb might have detonated early, but this wasn’t even close to over.
Chapter 9
“Your family owns this?” Jordan asked quietly as the iron gate shut behind the police officer who had driven them to his family’s home.
Vincent waved at the guy as he left in his cruiser. “Yeah. It was in my dad’s family forever and when he died, he left it to all of us in his will. Me, my sisters and my mom. Probably so no one could ever sell it.” Something his dad had likely counted on.
Family had been everything to his father, especially after his wealthy parents basically shunned him for marrying a poor, black Jamaican, second-generation American. His mom had apparently had three strikes against her before she’d ever met her would-be in-laws. His father’s parents had ancestors that literally went back to the Mayflower. Elitist fuckers. At least the home they’d given to their son now belonged to those it should.
“This is a seriously nice location and a beautiful home.” She sounded awed as she looked around and he loved that she appreciated the area.
The foliage was thick and lush, everything an island home should be. Palm trees, bushes, bright flowers, and two giant Royal Poinciana trees surrounded their home. The whole family had pitched in to renovate the historic Caribbean style cottage. It had real wood plank floors, hand carved wooden beams and custom designed French doors. Even though the house itself was actually small, with two-bedrooms, a kitchen, living room and garage, it was on upper Duval Street. Prime property whether there was a recession or not. Every year he and his sisters grumbled about paying the property taxes, but they’d never give this place up. Not when it was one of their only links to their dad. They rented it for four months in the winter, but the rest of the year they all used it. One or more of them were always here on the weekends or whenever they could squeeze in a getaway.
“Yeah, plus the security is a lot better than that condo. The wall surrounding the place is high enough that no one sane would try to scale it, and the gate has security sensors on it. If anyone tries to come over it or through it, I’ll know. We’ve also got bullet resistant windows, including the skylights.” That had been at his insistence and he’d paid for it. The women in his family thought he was paranoid and that was fine by him. All he knew was, they were safe when they were here and that was all that mattered.
“Wow.” Fear skittered across Jordan’s face as she picked up her toiletries bag from the bricked driveway where he and the cop had deposited everything.
Vincent hefted up his bag, then extended the retractable handle on her biggest piece. “Just leave that one here. I’ll come back for it.”
Pursing her lips, she just shook her head and grabbed her other bag. “I’m not helpless, Vincent. I can carry my own stuff.”
He just grunted. That might be so, but it didn’t mean he didn’t want to take care of her. As they neared the front door, he froze. Since he’d walked to Jordan’s last night and they’d walked everywhere from that point on, they hadn’t needed his vehicle. It was still in the garage, which was shut—but he hadn’t left the drapes in the two front windows open.
And they were pulled back. Tense, he abruptly stopped and scanned the perimeter, hating that instant feeling of being exposed to an attack.
“What is it?” Jordan asked, her voice slightly unsteady.
“Maybe nothing.” Yeah right. He dropped the bag and wrapped a
n arm around her, gently pushing her toward the garage. “Hide behind the side of the house,” he whispered as he withdrew his SIG in a fluid, practiced movement.
Before she could comply, the front door flew open. On instinct, Vincent raised his gun but immediately lowered his arm as his sister Zoe walked out.
“It’s just me,” she said lightly. She raised her arms jokingly as she looked back and forth between him and Jordan with clear curiosity.
Vincent sheathed his weapon in the back of his pants. “What are you doing here?”
“Me? What are you doing here? I asked mom and she said you were out of town on business.”
Which is the tiny lie he’d told his mother so he wouldn’t have to answer a hundred questions about why he was suddenly dropping everything and coming to Key West. His mom had told him that the place would be free this week so he hadn’t bothered asking any of his sisters. He cleared his throat and looked at Jordan once before looking back at Zoe. Yeah, he did not want to have to explain anything right now.
“I’ve got a work emergency and need the place. I didn’t tell mom because I didn’t want her to worry. It’s…not safe for you here, Zoe.”
Ignoring, the last part, she snorted, her dark eyebrows raising. “Work related? Really?”
“Yeah.” In the Navy he’d learned that keeping his answers short and sweet couldn’t come back to bite him in the ass later. Never give up more intel than you have to. He used that practice with his family. He picked the bags back up, wanting to get Jordan inside as soon as possible. “Come on,” he murmured, for her ears only.
Zoe followed as he and Jordan strode past him. Jordan had already been through enough, he didn’t want her to have to deal with his family right now too. Zoe was great, but she could get overprotective of him since he was younger.
As he shut the front door behind all of them, he noticed one of Zoe’s small pink overnight bags by the coffee table and a small, black toiletry travel case sitting on top of it. Definitely not hers. He frowned. “Who’s here with you?” He knew Zoe dated but it didn’t mean he had to like it. And he definitely didn’t want to think about her having some guy over for a weekend getaway.
