Reckless: a book tied to the Cotton Creek Saga (Shattered 1)

by Ciana Stone

  Baltimore-Washington International Airport

  Morgan wasted no time disembarking and heading out of the terminal. Once outside, she jumped into the back of the first cab she spotted and gave him the address of Cord’s hotel.

  She decided to use the hour it would take to reach the hotel to her advantage, closed her eyes and laid her head back. Her intention was to grab a nap, but her thoughts kept going back to the messages Cord left.

  Something was wrong and not just because his initial message said it was urgent. It was like looking at a photo with a blank spot on it. That missing part nagged at her. She gave up on napping and fretted the entire time.

  The hour seemed to stretch on far longer thanks to her growing anxiety. The moment the driver pulled up in front of the hotel she shoved her credit card at him and waited impatiently for the transaction to clear. As soon as the driver returned her card, she hopped out of the cab. Heedless of curious looks, she ran through the lobby to the front desk, and once she had a key, she hurried to the elevator.

  Relief slowed her when she got off the elevator on the fourth floor. She went to Cord’s room, inserted the key card and opened the door. “Okay, I’m here. What’s so urgent? Cord, why−” She looked up from the act of removing the keycard to see two men busy sifting through Cord’s belongings. The room looked like a tornado had blown through.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  The two men stopped to look at her, and each reached inside his jacket.

  “Who are you and why are you going through my husband’s things?”

  The two men looked at one another and then the taller of them spoke. “Mrs. Alexander? I’m Jake Roberts, CIA. This is my partner, Bob Wheeler.”

  Morgan cut the introduction short and locked gazes with the tall man. “Where’s Cord?”

  “He’s–” The man identified as Roberts cut his gaze to his partner before continuing. “He’s at Langley. He sent us here to pick you up. We should leave right away. We may be in danger here.”

  “Whoa!” Morgan held up one hand, palm out as he started toward her. “Hold it. What makes you think I’m going anywhere with you? For all I know you could be some nut who thinks he’s James Bond.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Alexander, you’re quite right.” He pulled identification from his inside coat pocket and handed it to her.

  Morgan thought it looked genuine but had no way to be sure. The situation bothered her. She handed the ID back to Roberts and turned toward the bathroom. “You don’t mind if I use the restroom first, do you?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply, but entered the bathroom and shut the door. The first thing she noticed was Cord’s cell phone, lying on the vanity top beside the sink beside his wallet. Now she knew something was rotten. Cord couldn’t even sleep without the damn thing nearby. There was no way he would have left without it. Hell, he’d have turned around and come back for it even if he did forget it. So now what?

  As she had no clue where to look for Cord, she concluded that she had no choice but to go with the men. The way she saw it, if anything came up that didn’t seem right, she could always bail.

  A minute later she left the bathroom, closing the door behind her. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Without further delay, they left the room.

  Hilton Hotel, Washington, D.C.

  Cord ventured another look at the young men, who were still talking. He needed to get back to his room, figure out what was going on, and get something to eat. Lack of food and sleep was catching up with him. He allowed himself a brief moment to close his eyes and quite unexpectedly, a memory surged through his mind.

  Morgan sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. He enjoyed watching her, seeing the shining strands slide through the brush then fall softly over her breast to conceal the full nipple.

  Dressed in an opaque black top with nothing underneath, short skirt and high–heeled black boots with thin silver guards on the toes she was his idea of the perfect picture of sexuality. Just one look at her started his erection building.

  It was a Friday evening, their ‘date night’. All week they worked, each taking care of their respective business obligations. Friday nights were their reward – a time to put business aside and concentrate on each other. Morgan knew that she could arouse him simply by what she wore, and so she dressed for their dates in outfits that never failed to provoke the desired response.

  She put the brush down on the dressing table, rose, and walked over to where he stood in the doorway. He reached out to grab her around her waist with one arm and pull her close, pressing against her so that she was fully aware of his excitement. She placed her palms on his chest and pushed him away with a teasing laugh.

  As she backed up, he moved forward and reached around her to cup her firm ass in his hands. He pulled her against him once more and buried his face in the crook of her neck. His nostrils flared at her smell. Even after all these years, her smell still intoxicated him. Unmasked by the artificial odor of perfume, she emitted a scent that worked on him like an aphrodisiac.

  “Chinese?” He asked as he nuzzled her neck.

  “Umm, yes.” She sounded like she had something else entirely on her mind.

  Cord opened his eyes and pushed the memory from his mind. “I must be crazy. People trying to kill me, and I'm having a wet dream? You are one sick puppy, Alexander.”

  At long last, the young men headed into the elevator. Cord waited for a couple of minutes and watched to make sure no one was around before leaving his hiding place behind the dumpster. It took mere seconds to dash to the elevator, press the call button and then get inside. He pressed his floor button then leaned back against the wall in relief. Almost there.

  Once the door opened, he peered out into the hallway. It was empty, so he sprinted down the hall to his room. The moment he was inside, he closed the door and engaged the security lock. With relief at finally being safe, he turned, leaned back against the door and closed his eyes. That feeling of security fled when he opened his eyes.

  The room had been ransacked. The contents of his messenger bag were scattered across the floor, his clothes were strewn across the stripped bed or lay on the floor with the bedclothes.

  Suddenly, all doubts he had that the shooting had nothing to do with him, evaporated. He didn’t know where to begin to put the mess in order, he just stood there looking at it and breathing. It was breathing that made the decision for him. He stunk.

  Cord kicked off his soggy shoes, pulled slimy socks from his feet and headed for the shower. The moment he opened the bathroom door he was met by another surprise. Scrawled across the mirror was a message. With CIA. Boots.

  That sent another fear surging through him. He hurriedly climbed into the shower and stripped off his filthy clothes. By the time he re-emerged, he’d allowed fear to propel his mind into all manner of fantasy. Apocalyptic visions ran through his mind. A terrorist group had stolen the material and was preparing to use it to hold the city as hostage. He was being targeted because of his knowledge of the system.

  Cord didn’t really believe it or at least didn’t want to, but today’s events sure had a way of making him wonder. And why was Morgan here? That thought had him hurrying to dress. He grabbed his phone and left the room. Reception was spotty in the elevator, so he waited until he was in the lobby before dialing directory assistance to ask for the number of the FBI.

  He quickly repeated the number to himself to commit it to memory and then dialed. “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” A recorded voice answered. “If you know your party's−“

  Cord knew the drill with these systems and immediately pressed the zero key. A few moments later a live person came on the line. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. How may I−“

  Cord didn’t let the woman finish the sentence before he interrupted. “This is Cord Alexander. Agent Samuels and Workman picked me up at the Hilton a little while ago, and while we were on the way to the Bureau, these guys in an Audi starte
d shooting at us. Workman was killed, and the car turned over. I got out, and I thought Samuels was right behind me, but once I got into the sewer, I guess I outran him and when I got back to the hotel my room had been ransacked−“

  “Sir!” The woman practically shouted. “Please, excuse me, but if you’ll hold, I will direct your call to the first available agent.”

  He wasn’t given a chance to say more before he was placed on hold. Cord looked around the lobby, paced and fretted until a male voice came on the line. “This is Andy Smith. How may I assist you?”

  “This is Cord Alexander. Agent Samuels – uh, Mark I think – yeah, that’s it, Mark Samuels and his partner, Workman, came to the Hilton this morning and asked me to go with them to the FBI. In route we were chased and shot at and−“

  “Chased and shot at?”

  “Yeah, and not only that but one of the agents was killed.”

  There was a pause then Cord heard the man’s muffled words. “Anyone know where Samuels is? You were saying?”

  “Huh?” It took Cord a moment to realize that the man was talking to him again.

  “Was it Agent Samuels who was killed?”

  “No, the other one. Workman. Samuels got out of the car before it exploded and the last I saw of him he was crawling under the van. I think I lost him in the sewer. When I got back to my hotel my room had been trashed, and there was a message from my wife saying she’s with the CIA.”

  “Okay, hold on. Let me get this straight, Mr. Alexander. You were in the sewer?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. The sewer – you know, the tunnels that run under the streets?” Cord thought the questions were stupid. A man had been killed, and this guy was asking questions about the sewer.

  “All right, fine. You were in the sewer and your wife is with the CIA. Do you think you’re in any danger right now, Mr. Alexander?”

  Paranoia began to steal its way back into Cord’s mind. “No, no I don’t think so.” He looked around as he answered.

  “Where are you right now, Mr. Alexander?”

  That question snapped the fragile thread of control Cord had on his emotions. “What do you mean where am I? I’m at the goddamn Hilton! Don’t you people have any idea what’s going on?"

  All at once, he realized how bizarre his story must sound. And at the same time, he realized that Agent Smith probably didn’t have any idea what was happening. Samuels had to be one of hundreds if not thousands of agents. He struggled to regain some measure of composure and apologized for his outburst.

  “It’s okay, Mr. Alexander, you don’t have to apologize. Just stay right where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Cord ended the call and checked the time. Minutes seemed like hours as he paced. He looked at the lobby doors every few seconds. The wait was unbearable.

  Holy shit! A thought popped into his head. If I’m in danger, then so is Tom! He snatched his phone from its holster again and placed a call.

  The call went straight to voicemail. As Cord waited for the recorded message to end, he tried to formulate what he needed to say. He couldn’t go into the whole story. That would take too long. But he had to warn Tom.

  “Tom, hey, it’s Cord.” He started talking the moment he was directed to leave his message. “You’re in danger. Call me at the FBI and ask for Agent Andy Smith. This is serious.”

  He paced the lobby, looking toward the entrance every few seconds. A headache was forming in his temples, and he rubbed at one side absently. He tried Tom again. Again, it went to voice mail. This time he didn’t leave a message.

  A voice behind him speaking his name had him whirling around with the phone still gripped in his hand.

  “Mr. Alexander?”

  Cord looked at the tall, gray-haired man in the dark suit and his companion, a younger and smaller man about Cord’s size. Agent Smith, he thought as he looked at the tall man.

  “It’s about time you got here!” He marched past the man and headed for the lobby doors. “Let’s go.”

  “Mr. Alexander?” The man reached out as if to take Cord’s arm, but Cord’s swift stride took him two steps out of reach.

  “How’s Morgan?” he asked as he reached the lobby doors. “Did you find Samuels? Have you taken care of Tom?”

  The older man caught up as Cord pushed open the glass door. “You are Cord Alexander, correct?”

  “Yes, yes.” Cord was impatient to get going. “Where’s your car?”

  The two agents shared a look before the older man gestured and escorted Cord. As they neared the car, two men in dark suits hurried by toward the lobby entrance.

  “I hope this one’s bulletproof.” Cord remarked as he climbed into the back seat.

  The moment they left the parking lot Cord started in on them, determined to get answers. “Have you guys picked up Tom McGuire?”

  The older man, seated in the front passenger seat, turned to look at Cord. “All of your questions will be answered as soon as we get to headquarters. Just relax, Mr. Alexander. We have everything under control.”

  Cord let out a snort of disgust and crossed his arms. “Is that some sort of standard response for you guys?”

  He knew they were only doing their jobs, and they were trained to do things a certain way, and follow procedures, but he was tired of not knowing what was going on. Nevertheless, he had no control over the situation, so he yielded, sat back and closed his eyes.

  He would feel a lot better once he saw Morgan.

  Chapter Five

  Washington, D.C.

  Morgan sat quietly in the back seat of the black Mercedes. Things weren’t adding up at all. If these guys really were CIA, then why were they driving a Mercedes? Everyone knew the government was a Ford fan. Besides, since when does the CIA operate on home soil?

  She looked up and saw they were passing M Street. Apprehension started to accumulate in the pit of her stomach. Unless they were going to take the freeway, they should have turned south onto M Street. To fight back the ever-increasing unease, she leaned back and took long deep breaths. Mistake or not, if the car didn’t turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue, she was going to find a way to get out.

  As they approached Washington Circle, she unfastened her seat belt, slid to the edge of the seat and leaned forward. “Either of you guys have a smoke?”

  The driver took his right hand off the steering wheel to reach into his left shirt pocket and take out a pack of cigarettes. Morgan noticed the Italian brand as he shook the pack to expose the cigarettes and offer her one.

  She rose slightly and leaned forward more, extending her left arm. At that moment the car passed Pennsylvania Avenue. It was time to bail. She drove her right elbow into the temple of the man in the passenger seat. Unprepared for the attack, the blow sent him careening into the side window. Before the driver could react, Morgan threw a punch and caught him just in front of his left ear.

  As the unconscious driver slumped forward, the car swerved into the oncoming lane of traffic. Morgan hung on as it spun and then stopped, miraculously escaping being hit. She reached over the driver to release the door locks, stepped out onto the street, brushed back her hair and as nonchalantly as possible walked away.

  *****

  Agent Smith took mental note of the three men he passed leaving the hotel as he and his partner hurried toward the entrance. He thought he recognized one of the men but wasn’t sure. Dismissing the thought, he headed straight for the desk and asked the attendant to ring Cord Alexander’s room.

  “Okay, but he’s not there. He just left. In fact, you had to have passed him on your way in."

  Without hesitation, Smith and his partner ran back to the entrance. They burst out of the door just in time to catch a glimpse of a white sedan turning south out of the parking lot.

  *****

  “I think we have a tail.” The driver announced as he looked in the rear-view mirror.

  Cord’s eyes flew open, and
he almost came off the seat as he jerked around to look out of the back window. “Where? I don’t see anything.”

  The older man in the passenger seat didn’t respond to Cord’s question but picked up the radio mic. “Stork to base, over.”

  “Base. Go ahead, over.”

  “Base, we’re headed south on New Hampshire with a possible 215. Repeat, a possible 215. We may need assistance, over.”

  “Affirmative, Stork. Keep advised. Base out.”

  “New Hampshire?” Cord leaned forward. “What’re we doing on New Hampshire? Where the hell are you guys taking me? And I thought you were Agent Smith?”

  “Calm down, Mr. Alexander,” The older man who’d now been identified as Stork leaned away and grimaced at Cord’s bellow. “We have everything under control.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  They traveled south on New Hampshire and turned west when they reached M Street.

  “Taking the Key?” Stork asked. The driver nodded, keeping his attention on the road.

  Stork picked up the radio mic again. “Stork to Base, over.”

  “Base. Go ahead, Stork, over.”

  “Headed west on M. Close the Key, over.”

  “Affirmative. Base out.”

  Cord’s mind raced, trying to decipher the cryptic conversation. He knew they were on M Street, but what the hell was the key? The Key Bridge?

  What the hell’s going on? Close the Key? Holy shit! Close the Key Bridge?

  He actually heard his heartbeat and realized he was wet with sweat. Even his hair was wet. No, wait, his hair was still wet from the shower. With something akin to astonishment, he realized how little time had passed. His gaze went to the window, and he scrutinized every car on the road behind him but failed to determine who, if anyone, was following.