“After we didn’t find anything at the bank, we immediately got the feeling we were being followed.” Emma swallowed. “Mint got us away from them, but they found us at the cabin. Then the FBI agents showed up. They just rolled in, ready to take us into custody like we did something.” She shook her head. “Mint kind of…lost it.”
Rachel glanced at the windows between the conference room and the main office. One of the agents was rubbing his head. Another looked like he had a black eye. “Ah.”
“That’s not good,” Adrian said. “I can try and persuade them not to bring charges, but if you bruised some egos, they aren’t likely to drop the issue.”
Mint shrugged one shoulder. “Mistakes were made on both sides. Somehow they had information on my history. And they knew all about Emma.”
“They threatened to arrest me, if he didn’t calm down,” Emma said.
Megan groaned. Adrian stood beside her. Alexis took a seat on the far side of the table. Rachel leaned against the wall.
She said, “What are we going to do now? Do you think the blackmailer is purposely turning the FBI against all of us?” She turned to Adrian. “That isn’t going to go well for you, is it?”
He shrugged. “Might have to kiss that promotion goodbye. Unless we can straighten this all out.”
Rachel said, “If you get me something I can use to check my email, I can get on that. Or at least try.”
“I’ll ask.” He moved toward the door. Two agents met him on the other side, and after a brief conversation, one shook his head.
“Ask them for a phone, then,” Rachel called out. The frustration was growing, and it was hard to shove it back down. “They can listen in on my call if they want. But if I’m being held here, then I’m going to want my lawyer. And I’ll need to place a call in to the Secret Service to advise them that the FBI are holding me.” Her voice rose as she spoke, the irritation clear in her tone.
And who cared if she sounded like an entitled Washington paper-pusher? Certainly not Rachel. Especially if it got her what she wanted.
She could tangle up all kinds of bureaucratic red tape that would take months to get straightened out. If she and her friends were being held here, then their rights needed to be explained to them.
One of the agents moved in, past Adrian, and handed her a phone. “We will be listening.”
“Ah,” Rachel said, “So you do think we’re all part of this blackmailer’s plot, then?”
He lifted his chin.
“Certainly the first thing I’d do if I was trying to misdirect everyone would be to have someone drug and rape me and video it, then publish that video for all the world to see. You know—” She leaned forward, her voice dripping with disdain. “—just to throw suspicion off.”
Alexis gasped.
The agent at least had the decency to wince. He knew exactly what had happened to her, just as everyone else here did. It wasn’t a secret anymore. Her life was fully open for scrutiny. All that was left was for someone to publish a tell-all memoir.
Wouldn’t that be delightful?
“Ma’am—”
Whatever he was going to say, Rachel didn’t much care. She said, “Thank you for the phone.” And turned away, fully dismissing him. Which he knew.
She heard him shut the door.
“Who are you going to call?” Megan asked.
Rachel turned to her.
“No.” Alexis stood, fire in her eyes, interrupting the conversation Rachel had been about to have with Megan. The look on her face wasn’t good.
“Lex—”
“Don’t.” Her best friend held up a hand. “We need to talk about that.” She pointed at the door the agent disappeared out of.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She dialed the number while she prayed the vice president’s wife actually answered. That was new. Normally she wouldn’t have thought to pray. But she appreciated the fact she’d thought to do it. At least she was progressing on something.
“What are you even doing?” Alexis asked. “Care to tell us who you’re calling?”
Rachel listened to it ring. They would find out soon enough. But would it be in time to save Steve? Could she end this before what he’d said really happened, before word spread that there had been an attempt on the president’s life?
She had to at least try.
**
Steve drove to where David said he’d met with the vice president’s brother. He drove slowly past the old, rundown house. Brick wall topped with wrought iron. Overgrown driveway.
A thump from the trunk told him David was awake again. Mad enough to kick or punch out his frustration even though attempting to escape was pointless. Steve had disabled all the methods there were.
No way out.
Kind of like him, and this situation. He had to pray Bradley could figure out a way to free himself of those three armed Venezuelans. It wasn’t impossible, but he would likely not manage it unscathed. And his knee injury meant Bradley would be taking measures to not reinjure it.
Whichever way Steve figured it, the situation was a long shot.
But that didn’t mean he was going to kill the president. He would eat a bullet before he did that, no matter the fallout. He wasn’t going to be the scapegoat. He glanced at the plans he’d been sent—pictures of vantage points and Secret Service routes—long enough to figure out what they were, and then deleted them.
The rifle was tucked away at the train station in the locker he used occasionally.
Steve parked on the next street and backtracked to the house while he watched for anyone. This time of evening, people were settling in. Dinner was done, or those who didn’t eat until later were busy preparing it. He ducked his chin into the collar of his coat and made his way to the corner of the property where he climbed over the fence and landed on the other side.
Snow had collected up against the brick wall. His feet sank into it, the wet dampening his pant legs. Steve kicked the dust of snow from his shoes by tapping one heel against the other, one at a time, as he made his way toward the house.
It looked deserted, like no one had lived there in years. Whoever owned the house now had completely neglected it, so that it had definitely become that house in the neighborhood. The one kids rode their bikes past a little faster than they normally pedaled, just to clear it quicker.
Steve skirted the outside and found an open door at the back. Was the VP’s brother even here? Would he find anything at all, or was this a giant waste of time? He would probably burn an hour of Bradley’s life doing nothing and then go back to the car only to find out that David was gone. Or David would come to the house and shoot Steve.
He tried to think positively to come up with some good in this situation. Truth was God’s domain, and Steve tried to recall His promises. All he could remember was that they would have trouble. Check. And that there were no guarantees except where God promised to give peace and grace. Forgiveness. Redemption.
He prayed over his friends, right there at the open door. It didn’t matter if anyone saw him. This was important.
Then he asked for peace. Whatever he chose to do, Steve needed as much wisdom as he could get. And he needed the peace to know what the right thing to do was.
Feeling better than he had in weeks, Steve went inside the house. His heart ached for Rachel and what she’d gone through. As much as the knowledge that he couldn’t help Bradley refused to settle.
He cleared the kitchen and dining room. The whole place was littered with leaves that had blown in. It smelled faintly of something he couldn’t place.
He ascended the stairs and did the same search upstairs. Nothing. Not one single personal belonging. Not even a forgotten box in the attic. Floorboards had been removed from the main bathroom upstairs, and rats had chewed at the wires beneath.
Steve moved back downstairs. He resigned himself to the fact this had been a waste of time.
The shuffle of feet was the only warning before a solid weight barre
led into him. They hit the floor, Steve on bottom. He couldn’t stop the grunt that escaped his lips. He squeezed the trigger of the handgun, and the shot went into the ceiling. The sound was deafening and his ears rang.
David shifted to grasp Steve’s neck, his hands still bound. He got a decent grip before Steve clocked him with the gun. David swayed and lost his grasp. But the weight of him kept Steve from taking a full breath. The gun flew out of his hand, and he realized he’d lost his own grip on it. His hands dropped, and he tried to lift them.
David spread his bound palms and grabbed Steve’s neck again. “You are going to do this.”
He squeezed tight. Bright spots flickered at the edges of Steve’s vision. “Can’t shoot…” He tried to breathe against the pressure on his throat. “Pres… If you…kill me.”
David roared out his frustration. He lifted Steve’s head in a punishing grip and slammed the back of it against the floor. But Steve didn’t lose consciousness. Maybe he only directed Steve here for this.
“Did he even meet you here?”
David slammed his head down again.
His ears rang. His head pounded. Steve balled his fist and punched David’s side. He never protected his flanks. Had always left them exposed and vulnerable. David’s whole body clenched, his shoulder and knee drew together as he cried out.
Steve hit the other side.
Then he kicked David off him.
He looked around for the gun. Too far. David grabbed it first, lifted it with his bound hands and pointed it at Steve. “This was my house.”
He fired the gun. Steve was already diving out of the way even before he spoke, but it wasn’t fast enough. The gunshot echoed through the empty room. Hot fire slashed at his leg. Steve hit the dusty floor and rolled. He sucked in breath through his teeth.
He blinked and David stood over him, still holding the gun.
“Shoot me, and there’s no one to blame for an assassination.”
“Get up.” David didn’t even acknowledge Steve’s words. “Guess who’s going in the trunk now?”
Steve hobbled to the car. Blood made a wet trail down his left pant leg. David held the gun on him and opened the trunk. He motioned to it.
Steve climbed in. Ouch. He prayed someone glanced out their window, saw them and called the police. He wouldn’t care if they came right now, and he was arrested. If someone could testify he was being abducted, that would help, right?
David slammed the lid down on the trunk. Steve groaned.
He got in the front—Steve heard the door open and close, and then the engine started.
Then he heard, “Yeah. It’s me.”
David was making a call.
“Kill the sailor.”
Steve’s heart sank. Bradley. All that, and it had been nothing but David making a power play. Directing Steve to a house David had lived in—and maybe still owned. This had nothing to do with the blackmailer. It had all been a lie. Subterfuge, the kind they’d both been trained in.
Steve wanted to scream out his frustration. Was he so far off his game that he’d fallen for it? He hated to even think that.
So much pride. Knowing he’d kept his honor through all of this meant nothing when his friends—and their families—had to pay the price for his mistakes.
Bradley was going to have to pay.
With his life.
Chapter 17
“Thank you so much for taking my call.” Rachel leaned toward the base of the phone. She had the handset to her ear, but she had to focus. For some reason, that meant keeping her attention on the phone display and the buttons of this FBI nineties model phone. Not that there was time to think it through.
Mrs. Anderson said, “Of course, dear. I have a few minutes for you. Of course.”
Rachel wanted to roll her eyes, but there were people watching. And listening. Agents, and techy people. They didn’t need to know what she really thought of the vice president’s wife.
She shifted in the rolling office chair. “I just wanted to touch base with you about your invitation to be the face of your endeavor.”
“Oh!” The woman’s tone was full of excitement. “That’s so wonderful to hear.”
Uh. Except, Rachel hadn’t said she was going to do it. She just wanted to talk about it. Maybe Mrs. Anderson was one of those people who railroaded others by circumventing their own decisions and doing the deciding for them.
Rachel said, “I’d like to talk more about it and hear what your plans are. Perhaps we can meet up somewhere?”
“I’ll speak with my assistant, and we’ll put something on the calendar. Yes, I have so many ideas. There’s such a need to reach out to people who’ve been victimized online.”
“It certainly is timely, what with the suicide of the Senator from Wyoming. Such a terrible thing.” The woman had been a victim of the blackmailer and taken her own life earlier this year.
“Yes.” The VP’s wife sounded like she swallowed. “It was terrible.”
“Did you know her?” Rachel wondered if she’d been acquainted with the woman her husband and his brother victimized. Not exactly the same way they had with Rachel, but similarly enough. “Before she killed herself, I mean?”
“Possibly. When I saw the newspaper I realized she looked familiar, like I’d seen her around. Such a tragedy.” There was no remorse in her tone. In fact, there was little feeling at all.
Rachel had no idea how to shift the conversation towards essentially implicating this woman’s husband and brother-in-law as being responsible for it. She said, “Working to provide help and support for the victims, particularly the many who have been caught up in this blackmailing scheme, is something I would like to be part of. Not just because I’m one of them. The men who did this to me need to be stopped. The healing itself will take years.”
She leaned back in the chair and wondered if the vice president’s wife was going to pick up on what she’d said, or if the woman would just ignore it.
“The…men?”
Bingo. “The FBI believe there are two of them. One man organizing it, the other in the shadows. They believe he’s hidden this man, his associate, for years. But I’ve seen him.”
“You know who did that to you?”
“Yes,” Rachel said. “And he sat across the table from me, taunting the feds, just for the power trip. Some of them think he came here just to speak to me, specifically. But I’m not so sure. Why do all of that and then have to hire gunmen to get you out?”
“Maybe you drew his attention somehow.”
“How would I have done that?” Rachel asked. “I don’t even know him.”
“He knows you.”
Rachel held herself very still. The vice president’s wife couldn’t see her. Rachel couldn’t see the look on the other woman’s face. All she could go on was the tone in her voice. “How would he know me? And what fault of that is mine? It isn’t like I asked him to have Aaron Jones do that to me.”
“No one asks him to do anything.”
“So he’s acting on his own, directing this whole situation.” Rachel decided to throw caution out. “Trying to get your husband in the president’s seat so he can be the man behind the throne, as it were? Is that it?”
The vice president’s wife was quiet for so long Rachel wondered if she’d hung up. Then she said, “How am I supposed to know?” Rachel heard shuffling on the other end of the line, then a door closed. “After what he’s done? And I’m supposed to ignore the fact I have no maid now?” She huffed. “Can I even live in the White House with no maid?”
Mrs. Anderson’s question echoed on the line.
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. “Your husband’s brother killed your maid?”
Mrs. Anderson let out a little gasp that had a squeak to it. There was a click, and dial tone.
“She hung up.”
Rachel turned around in the chair and nodded to the agent. “She didn’t answer the question either.”
He nodded. Behind him,
she could see Adrian replace the headphones he’d been using to listen in. He walked over and stood by the agent.
Rachel didn’t need him to explain it to her. “I tried, but it wasn’t enough.”
Adrian nodded. “The agents looking into the maid’s death can look more closely at the brother.”
“But if there’s no evidence he even exists, how are they going to find him? So far he hasn’t left anything behind. We have no idea what his plan is, other than to sit back and wait for all this to unfold.”
“It was a good try.”
Rachel shoved the chair back and stood. It rolled and hit the desk. She blew out a breath in frustration. “It didn’t help.”
“Rachel—”
She waved him off. “It’s fine. I tried. I’m just getting tired of trying to do something and getting nowhere. I don’t like that he was here, and then he got away. It cost FBI agents their lives, and we still have no evidence that the brother even exists. Or that either of them is the blackmailer. How can we convince anyone of this conspiracy without proof of who is behind it?”
They were too good to be able to do all this without anyone knowing that they were the ones behind it.
The other agent nodded. “She’s right. It’ll be hard to prove they’re responsible.” He didn’t even look all that convinced. “We need witness testimony. Electronic records. Taped conversations.” He picked up the phone closest to him. “I’ll find out what we need to get the Secret Service working on this with us. Maybe pull in his detail and interview them.”
Finally. She looked at Adrian, but he didn’t seem happy about this development. The FBI knew who Double Down’s suspect was. “This is good, isn’t it? They’re looking at the vice president now.”
He nodded, distracted. “There are so many variables. Investigating someone that high up takes finesse. There’s procedure, and it’ll be hard to do it without the vice president finding out. Which means his brother will know.”
“And he’ll disappear.”
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