Deadly Holidays

by Lisa Phillips

  “Quit stalling.”

  He moved, mug still in one hand. “I’m going to go outside and check the perimeter.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. He trailed out and she said, “Will you talk to him?”

  Alexis sipped her own tea. “I’m not being the go-between for my husband and my best friend.”

  “You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to marry him.”

  “And you don’t think it was a good idea?”

  Rachel said, “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

  “Do I?”

  “Does it matter what I feel?” She placed her glass in the sink. “It’s done, isn’t it?” And they all had to live with the consequences.

  “If I didn’t know you, I’d be offended by that.”

  Rachel placed her hands on the counter and hung her head, trying as best she could to not fly off the handle. What she’d said was bad enough. Alexis didn’t need the brunt of her frustration. Especially considering Bradley would go to bat for her now. The two of them, ganging up on her. The new “normal.”

  Too bad nothing about her life was normal.

  She didn’t know how to do this.

  Where was Steve, anyway? She had the phone and no idea what to do with it since Remy hadn’t contacted her. Was it all over? Failure. Nothing left to do?

  “I know you’re dealing with a lot—”

  She swung around to face Alexis. “Why do you always have to be so understanding?”

  “What else should I be?”

  “Get mad. Be mad at me.”

  “I’ve been mad at you plenty.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like forever ago.”

  “Why should I be mad at you now? You’ve been through so much. I figure compassion is a whole lot easier, considering all you’re dealing with.” Alexis’s face was soft and open. She was just so…nice. It was frustrating. Rachel wanted to fight with someone.

  She said, “That right there is the problem. All that compassion. You pity me, and you’re compensating by being nicer.”

  Alexis started to laugh. “And apparently being nice is a bad thing. You’d rather I was a jerk to you?”

  “Maybe,” she yelled.

  “Well I won’t do it!” She might have sounded mad, but Alexis smiled.

  “You’re the worst best friend ever. I’m firing you.” Rachel moved out of the kitchen to the sound of Alexis laughing. “I’m going to find someone else.”

  “You can try.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes and slumped down on the couch. “Where’s a bad guy when you feel like punching someone?”

  Alexis sat on the other side and set her mug on the coffee table. “I’m sure Steve is all right.” She paused. “You said he walked away.”

  Rachel nodded.

  “He’s good at what he does.”

  “So is the blackmailer.” And she’d had a chance to take him down, but she hadn’t been able to do it.

  “Steve will be fine.”

  **

  “She defended you, you know.” Bradley spoke to the dark yard.

  Steve wanted to hang his head. He wanted to pretend he wasn’t here watching. But Bradley knew the truth. Steve stood up from his crouch in the bushes and wandered out. Not so far that he’d be seen in the light that spilled from inside.

  His arm stung, but he ignored it. Kind of like he ignored anything he didn’t want to deal with. Like thinking shooting up that restaurant parking lot full of feds had been his only option.

  “And she asked me who you were before Double Down.”

  Steve said, “You haven’t told her?”

  “I thought it would’ve come out in the news already, but they’re still saying you worked for the state department overseas. Like diplomatic missions.”

  “Hey,” Steve said. “I can be diplomatic.”

  “Sure, if they let you negotiate with a weapon.”

  “My results speak for themselves. And who is still around afterwards to complain?”

  Bradley chuckled. The kind of macabre sense of humor shared by homicide detectives, FBI major crimes unit, former Navy SEALs…and ex-spies.

  Steve sobered fast though. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s worried about you and scared of the blackmailer. She’s covering it up by getting snippy with everyone.”

  “So…no? She’s not okay?”

  Bradley snorted. “Dude, you have a lot to figure out about women.”

  Steve would rather have had to only figure out one particular woman. He wanted to go inside and see for himself how she was. Maybe give her that hug.

  But that ship had sailed, and the destination was Lonely Harbor. Men like him didn’t get those chances. He’d thought Rachel might be his chance, but then she’d been drugged, assaulted, and kidnapped. Now there were dark shadows in her eyes that reminded him entirely too much of the reflection he saw every day in the mirror.

  The sins of his past.

  Rachel had that inside her. But his were because of what he’d done. Hers were because of what had been done to her. A pain he wasn’t going to be able to erase. He would only drag her farther down…into his own darkness.

  “Take care of her.”

  Bradley grabbed his arm before he could move away. “No. Don’t do that. She needs your help. She’s going after this blackmailer, and it scares me blind. After everything he’s done to her, she just waltzes into his office?”

  “If she isn’t safe in the White House, where is she going to be safe?”

  “It isn’t like she can live there. And you’re only proving my point—the moment she left, that guy tried to attack her.”

  “I don’t think he was going to kidnap her,” Steve said. “I think he was contracted to kill her.”

  “Any idea who he was?”

  Steve pressed his lips together, then said, “He had training.” What else was he supposed to say? He didn’t have a picture of the man. He didn’t even know the guy’s real name.

  “A mercenary?” Bradley blew out a breath. “I can’t protect her from skilled professionals. There’s no way to cover all the angles. And she wouldn’t be any better off in FBI protective custody, or US Marshal witness security. He has people who can get to her no matter where she is.”

  “So what’s the answer? I can’t help, because you need her to maintain her high profile. If she’s murdered now it will raise entirely too many questions. Ones he won’t want answered.”

  “He’ll blame it on you.”

  Steve thought for a second. “So I go elsewhere. Make it so I’m clearly in a different place. If she’s hurt, then it can’t be blamed on me.”

  Bradley shook his head. “You aren’t seriously talking about letting her get hurt just so you have an avenue that covers your own butt, are you?”

  “I’m just thinking it through. I can’t leave town right now.” Mrs. Cromwell needed help, at least until he could get assistance to come in. No one had called him back yet. “And we aren’t going to be able to get evidence that it really is the vice president without me being here.”

  Bradley sighed. “I’m beginning to think this is a losing battle. What if he doesn’t make a mistake? We won’t have anything on him. He’s too good. After all, he’s managed to stay hidden for years.”

  “But right now, he wants his end to happen. He’s on a timetable. The clock is going to run out.”

  “So what does he want so badly that he’s pushing his agenda now?”

  Steve said, “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “You know you don’t need to do this by yourself, right? The team is on it. Adrian and Megan are with the FBI gathering evidence and taking statements. Emma and Mint are going to collect what she had in her safe deposit box, and she’s going to give a statement as well.”

  “It won’t be enough.”

  “And Rachel.”

  Steve whipped his head around. “What about her?”

  “She went to the VP’s office to get into his comput
er. To get proof it’s him.”

  “And?”

  “She didn’t manage to get it this time. But that doesn’t mean she’ll quit trying.”

  He sighed. “So far all we know is that the VP was in Venezuela as a kid, that he was the son of missionaries.” Maybe he should pay his house a visit. Perhaps there was something there that could be used to convict him. “I should go.”

  “You’re not listening to me. We’re going to do this. Us. The team. Double Down.”

  “If anything happens to me,” Steve said, “you should know, I left the company to you.”

  It seemed like Bradley was already running the show in his absence. The transition would take a little paperwork, and their lives could continue as they were.

  The punch came out of nowhere. A solid right hook that knocked him to his back. He steadied himself in time to see Bradley rush at him.

  He hit Steve with the force of a three-hundred pound linebacker. Steve blinked and saw stars. “Get off me.”

  “You think you’re going to die? I’ll kill you myself. After I kick your butt from here to Nebraska!”

  They wrestled, rolling around on the snowy grass. Bradley got an uppercut in Steve’s ribs. Steve retaliated by locking his friend up with his legs and arms, a wrestling move. But not regulation. It had a side of fighting dirty to it. He squeezed.

  “Stop it!” Rachel’s voice rang out.

  “Get back inside, Rach. Please.” That was Alexis.

  Bradley dug his thumbs into a tendon that made Steve’s right leg go numb. They rolled and Bradley’s weight squashed the injury on Steve’s arm. He moaned, unable to keep it in this time.

  “Stop hurting each other!”

  Bradley exhaled. Steve loosened his grip so his friend didn’t pass out. Bradley rolled to his back on the grass beside him.

  “Well?” Rachel demanded.

  Steve wanted to ask, “What?” but didn’t have the breath to do it.

  “Do you feel better?” She asked it like it was a bad thing.

  “Yes,” Bradley said. “I do.”

  Steve found his breath. “Me too.”

  “Well you look like children. Get up!” Her demand rang across the yard.

  She started to yell again, but gunshots blasted.

  The girls dropped, diving back inside. Bradley crouch ran after them. Instinct driving him to protect them. Good. They needed that when faced with something like this.

  Steve pulled his gun and rolled away from the house. Found the flash of light indicating the muzzle blast. When he was clear of the shots, he headed for the source.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m Special Agent Adrian Walker.” He pulled out the metal chair and sat. Motioned toward the woman leaning against the wall in the corner. “This is Megan Perkins. She’s consulting with the FBI on this case.”

  Captain Charles St. Germaine—his mother was French—sat across the table. Street clothes, but pressed, despite living in FBI protective custody for the past three weeks. Pinched face, pale skin. Put him in a tailored suit and he’d fit perfectly in a board meeting—or at a dinner party with a cigarette in one hand.

  On a Navy ship? Not so much. Despite his years of service, Adrian just didn’t get that feel from this guy. He was at least fifteen years older than Adrian, who was himself pushing late thirties. Megan looked younger than she was, which had played in her favor as an undercover agent. Now she was in his life permanently, and Adrian had a ring burning a hole in his suitcase back at the hotel.

  He’d promised himself he wouldn’t ask her to marry him until this whole thing was resolved. She wasn’t safe right now, and neither was he. The man behind those who had terrorized her was still out there. And that wasn’t even their biggest problem right now.

  Charles’s expression turned bored. He stared at his fingernails.

  “You were targeted by Daniel Zimmerman, along with Rear Admiral Frampton,” Adrian said.

  “And I’ve been stuck in protective custody ever since.” He didn’t lift his gaze, just kept looking at his nails.

  “You’d rather be set loose where he can get to you again?”

  “Zimmerman is dead.” Charles glanced up then. He shifted his hand to point at Adrian. “Didn’t you hit him with your car, or something?”

  Adrian winced. It had been a split second decision, made before Zimmerman could bring down the plane Megan had been on. As it was, the aircraft had crashed. She was recovering still and used crutches most of the time—unless she was interviewing. It was why she leaned against the wall now. Though, he’d rather she sat.

  Charles glanced between them.

  “Why would he target you?” Adrian asked.

  They knew the blackmailer wanted this man dead because of his involvement in an operation in Venezuela years ago. Besides the fact many people were killed, there wasn’t much they knew about the secret mission. It was all classified. Some of the details had been uncovered, but there wasn’t much not redacted past the code name given to the operation and the village where it happened.

  A village the vice president had lived in with his missionary parents.

  Which meant he’d been there.

  It wasn’t conclusive proof he was the blackmailer, but it was as close as they had come so far to finding the source of so much carnage and destruction. What else could it be but some kind of revenge plot?

  Charles sniffed. “How would I know?”

  “Because you were there, Mr. St. Germaine.”

  “Where?”

  He insisted on playing it this way? “Venezuela in the eighties. Sebana to be precise. You must have been barely into your twenties, but we know that for some reason you were part of the planning for this mission. Maybe you didn’t join the op. Your entire military record is sealed, Captain. I have no idea your skill set or area of expertise. But I’m guessing you weren’t just the sous chef on the boat.”

  “They are ships.”

  “Whatever.” Adrian flipped open a folder and turned a photo around. “This is Special Agent Zimmerman’s wife and children. After they were found.”

  All three had been shot.

  Charles had the decency to wince at least. Adrian said, “This happened as a result of that operation in Sebana. People were murdered. I don’t know why but that much devastation does not go unnoticed, and yet no one even mentioned it. Until now. I’m asking you what happened back then. Why did the US undertake this mission on Venezuelan soil?”

  He wanted to also demand the reason why someone would, so many years later, target those involved. Why they would also target the children of those people. He wanted to know what was so compelling that kids had been murdered. Why Megan and Rachel, and so many more, had been terrorized. But people like the blackmailer didn’t care about the fallout—or who got caught in it.

  The vice president—Adrian could hardly believe it was him behind all this—had suffered some kind of traumatic event, right? Years later he’d been triggered into taking that trauma out on those responsible. Adrian still didn’t have a better answer than that as to why it was all happening now.

  Most cases he’d investigated, Adrian didn’t care why. But this had affected Megan in a way he could feel just by looking at her.

  He wanted answers.

  Charles leaned back in his chair, still bored. “The country was destabilizing. The economy was tanking, and people didn’t like it. Used to be Venezuela was one of the richest countries in the world. Now?” He shrugged.

  “And the mission?”

  “Nothing that would cause someone to want me dead. Not that mission, anyway.”

  “We think someone who was there on that day is after revenge,” Adrian said. “It would explain why he’s targeting those present as well as those who helped plan the mission. It was a joint venture, right? More than one branch of the military and the CIA? Feds?”

  Charles said, “Lot of operations I was involved in were. CIA contact, military boots on the ground as backup.” He smile
d, but the expression held nothing pleasant. “I have lived an interesting life.”

  “I figured that kind of cooperation was scared into the higher-ups of every government agency and the military after 9/11. Didn’t know it happened even back then.”

  Charles shrugged. “Didn’t say it was a friendly arrangement. Mostly one group show-boated because they thought they were better than everyone else.”

  “And then civilians get caught in the middle. Innocent people in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “What do I care? You guys will find him and, until then, I don’t have to listen to my daughter whining about how I’m not a good enough grandpa. Like it’s my fault the kid doesn’t look like any of us.”

  Adrian said, “You aren’t worried he might target her?”

  “Do the world a favor.”

  He didn’t react to that cold assessment. At least not outwardly. Inside, his stomach roiled. Who thought that about their own daughter and grandchild? Adrian needed to find them and make sure they were all right, not being used as some kind of leverage in this massive game. He wasn’t certain Charles would care.

  They’d only just uncovered the playing pieces, and he wasn’t convinced they had all of them yet. What strategy the blackmailer utilized was another question entirely.

  “What was the mission, Charles?”

  He sneered. “Same as every other mission back then. Get the money, take out the opposition. Level the playing field.”

  Like that was supposed to make sense. “Who was the opposition in this case?”

  “Cartel. It’s always the cartel. Back then they were no better than feudal lords. Now it’s worse since the economy tanked and the whole country is nothing but a giant cesspit.” Charles brushed his hand across the table. “Don’t know why you care so much.”

  “Maybe because innocent lives are in danger.”

  Charles shrugged. “Probably deserve it.”

  Adrian pointed to the photo. Zimmerman’s family. “Did they deserve this?”

  The man across the table was a decorated military officer. By all accounts a hero. How he had even passed psychological evaluation was anyone’s guess.

  “Maybe they did,” Charles said. “How am I supposed to know?”