They scuffled down the galley.
“Ry!”
The voice shot a chill through him.
No—no—how had Jenny gotten here? But he couldn’t take his eyes off the knife. Orion headbutted him, and Martin’s nose exploded. They’d already bloodied the serving carts, the floor—
Martin broke free, wiped his wrist across his bloodied face.
He couldn’t look for Jenny.
The butcher’s knife dripped.
“Whoever is left in here needs to get out, right now,” Orion said. He just needed to buy time until Jake showed up.
Gun against knife—he hoped Jake arrived armed.
Martin shook his head. “I know you’re weak. I saw you go down in Italy. I studied you, Orion Starr. I know one good shot to the knee, and this is over. I don’t even need the knife.”
He set it down on the counter, held up his hands. “See?”
Orion watched his hands, saw the twitch.
Braced himself because any second Martin was going to sweep up the knife and maybe even throw it—
Bam! The sound was so loud it reverberated into Orion’s bones. He stood there, wordless, as Martin dropped, hard, onto the red tile floor.
Jenny stood behind him holding a cast-iron pan, her hair out of its pinnings, her heels off, breathing hard. “I’m done negotiating.”
Orion put his hands down and in a second was on Martin, his knee in his back, Martin’s wrist bent back in a submission hold.
Right then, Jake showed up. “Dude—sorry.” Blood covered his face, a giant welt over his eye getting bigger. He grasped the side of the counter, as if the world was spinning. But he had a gun—where he’d gotten it, Orion didn’t want to guess.
Aria rushed in, past Jenny. “Jake!” She grabbed him around the waist and helped him to the floor. “I need some ice, and a bandage.”
“It looks worse than it is—”
“Right, that’s a serious head wound,” Aria said.
Jenny knelt next to Orion. “You’re bleeding too.”
“Good job with that pan, babe.” He looked over at her.
“Teamwork,” Jenny said, grinning.
Martin came to, shaking, and Orion held him down. “Somebody get help,” he said, because yes, now he was starting to hurt.
“You got it,” said a voice, and he looked up to see Ford Marshall, Ruby Jane, and York entering the kitchen.
And behind them—what?
Royal Benjamin.
Orion just looked at him, frozen. The man had leaned out, his face hard, but he smiled as he spotted Orion. “Hey there, PJ.”
“What are you doing here?” And that was the least of his questions, but . . . “You’re okay?”
Royal knelt next to Orion. “Yeah. I’m good. Especially now that you got this guy. We’ve been trying to pin him down for a while. All those missives sent by Signe to the CIA? Martin intercepted them. Redirected them.”
York came over too. Bent over in front of Martin. “Hey there, pal, remember me?” York looked up at Orion. “I’m getting a little tired of people I trusted betraying me.”
“Yeah. Game over,” Orion said, a strange, deep sense of satisfaction sweeping through him.
“Is Martin running the rogue CIA group?” Jenny said.
York shook his head. “Oh no. That honor goes to Vice President Reba Jackson, just like Signe said.”
Martin’s jaw tightened.
“Search him. Make sure he doesn’t have anything lethal on him,” Roy said.
Ford patted him down and came up with a cell phone and a hotel key card. The phone was locked. He handed the key card to York.
Ford passed the phone to Scarlett. “See if you can unlock the phone.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re all too late anyway,” Martin said.
“No, we’re not.” Scarlett came up and looked at Roy. “We need to warn the president that he shouldn’t come here. That he’s in danger.”
Royal looked at her, and even Orion went cold at his expression. “The president is already here.”
Signe chose the closet because, well, she hadn’t a clue where else to go.
She was fresh out of places to run.
She couldn’t go into the ballroom, not without threatening all those people.
And sure, as long as White wasn’t in the building yet, she was safe, but . . .
But there was no getting out of this. She couldn’t leave the building, she couldn’t call for help.
What she could do was keep Ham safe.
Give Aggie a father.
Even if she broke his heart.
She put her head into her knees, hearing her voice shouting at him through the glass. “You get in the way and . . . I don’t want you in my life. Just stay there and leave me alone.”
She was sick to her stomach at her words, but she needed him to stay put.
And then she found a place the farthest away from Ham and locked herself inside.
Scarlett had found her easily, probably because Scarlett had been watching her the entire time.
Smart woman. She’d caught on to Signe’s request without the need for explanation, had contacted a friend who brought the device in via her K9 dog kit.
Signe put it on in the bathroom before her meeting, not sure what to expect.
At least . . . well, at least her daughter would know she wasn’t a traitor.
And Ruslan would live.
“Talk to me, Signe.”
She wanted to weep when she heard Ham’s voice outside the door. When he ordered the team away.
When he sat down and said, his voice so calm, so in control—and yes, she desperately needed that right now—“Shorty, it’s just you and me now. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here until you come out.”
Shoot. No! Inside her head she was screaming.
And Tsarnaev was probably listening.
So, she kept quiet.
“Signe.”
She couldn’t stand it. “Go away, Ham. I have to do this. Alone.”
And, of course he didn’t understand. “Do what?”
Nothing.
“Do what?”
Please, Ham. Because if Ham gave away her position, then Tsarnaev would know she wasn’t in the ballroom. At least with this position, she looked close to the ballroom, on the main floor.
Aw, he wasn’t easily fooled, clearly.
She’d been such an idiot to think that she could be someone amazing. Save lives. Be a hero.
She could choke on her own stupid aspirations.
Then, she felt fingers against her leg, stuck under the door just like she’d done to Ham so many years ago. Under the door, under their desks, across a dark closet.
She couldn’t stop herself from reaching down and weaving hers through his.
Oh, she didn’t deserve him.
Ever.
And Tsarnaev picked then to roar back into her brain. “You would have never surrendered to me in the first place if you didn’t believe that you deserved it.”
No. That wasn’t true.
“At some point in your life, someone told you that you weren’t worth protecting. Weren’t really worth loving. And you believed them.”
Not anymore.
“Start listening to the truth. Ham, your friends, and, if you want, God. Because clearly he brought you back to the starting place.”
The starting place.
And suddenly, she was thirteen years old, in a thin dress, hiding in her barn. The smell of stale hay and old manure drifted up through the slats of the haymow and the cool wind whisked over her. She pulled up her dress and hid her knees in it, touched her forehead to her knees.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Signe nearly lifted her head, the voice felt so real, but it was just Ham, tiptoeing into the haymow in her mind. In her heart.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather.” He came over to her. He wore his dirty orange-and-brown jacket and a pair of jeans, his hair long and s
craggly. “You look cold.”
She didn’t say anything, and he shucked off his jacket and put it over her shoulders.
Then he moved in around her, his legs and arms embracing her. “It’s okay, Shorty. I’m not going anywhere.”
She’d held on to him, refusing to cry. Because why did it matter, anyway? God wasn’t on her side. And crying wouldn’t bring her grandfather back.
“He’s the only one who ever wanted me,” she said quietly, her voice small.
“That’s not true,” Ham said. “I want you. You’re my best friend.”
Huh. She’d sort of forgotten that memory. But sitting here, her fingers touching his, it stirred from the dust of her heart.
That, and, “Why?” she’d asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe because you want me, too?”
He’d meant it honestly, and back then, she hadn’t assigned anything but friendship to it.
Maybe it was just that simple. Maybe there wasn’t a reason to love someone. Maybe you just did. And that was enough.
Nothing to prove. And if she didn’t have to prove it, then she didn’t have to fear losing it either, by screwing it up.
She simply was loved.
By Ham.
It just took the feel of Ham’s fingers, entwined with hers, to realize . . . yes, God had brought her back to the beginning.
To the one her heart loved.
Because . . . maybe the Almighty loved her too.
Her core wasn’t shame.
Her core was love.
And love was power.
Love was hope.
Love was happy endings.
Her fingers wove around Ham’s.
No more hiding in the closet.
She let go and got up, easing the broom handle away from where she’d lodged it into the door, and opened it.
Ham had also gotten up, and now she pressed her finger to her mouth.
His tuxedo was a mess, untucked, his hair undone by the running of his hand through it.
She pointed to the bracelet, and then her ear. Held up her fingers, like it might be a phone. He nodded.
She exploded her hands out, and his eyes widened.
Then he took her hand. Trust me, his mouth said, but she heard it with her heart.
Yes. Always.
Ham headed down the hallway, toward the stairwell.
He took it down, two flights, all the way to the basement, then walked out into the corridor. Signe could see the light on the bracelet still blinking. This wasn’t going to work, and she almost said it when he came to a secure door.
He keyed in a code on the keypad.
It opened.
He took her down three more flights to another secure entrance. Ham keyed in another code, and he pulled her into a corridor. The place reeked of age, the lighting dismal but, as he took her hand and began to walk down the tunnel, the light flicked off.
She stopped. “Ham. The bracelet—it stopped transmitting.”
He turned. Looked at the bracelet, then, “No.”
Huh?
“I’m not going to leave you alone. Ever. If you run, I’ll find you. If you push me away, I’ll stick around. I love you, Signe. You and I belong together. You’re my wife and—”
“Yes.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “Yes, I am.”
He kissed her. And it wasn’t one of those tentative kisses he’d been giving her for the past month, but the kind that reminded her of exactly the man she’d married. A man of honor, yes, but a warrior, a man of purpose and power, and the kind of man she could hang on to. He backed her up to the wall, leaned against it with one hand, and pulled her to himself with the other.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and let him storm into every compartment of her heart. It all belonged to him, anyway.
She was safe. She was wanted.
And, she still wore a bomb on her wrist. She pushed on his good shoulder.
He lifted his head. “I know.”
“What?”
“That you’re wearing a bomb.”
How did he do that?
“But down here, the signal won’t reach, so for now, we’re safe.”
Oh, she wished. “No, Ham . . . we’re not. I mean, yes, the president is, but . . . Ham, Tsarnaev has my son.”
Ham just blinked at her, frowned. “Ruslan?”
He remembered his name. And that shook her to her core . . . except it was Ham.
And he loved her.
Of course he’d remember her son.
“Tsarnaev showed me a live video of him, playing a video game, here in DC. The Washington Monument was in the background.”
“Right. Okay, so we get this thing off you and then we track down your son—”
“And how are we going to get this off me? The latch is locked.”
“Maybe we can help.”
The voice stilled her, and Ham drew in a breath. Stood up. “Sir.”
Isaac White—er, President Isaac White—came walking down the hallway toward them. “Orion caught Martin. It was quite the spectacle, but he was able to get a message to me. I was already on premises, so your quick thinking saved my life.”
He was looking at both of them.
“Sir, I am to blame,” Signe said.
“No. You’re not. You were doing what your country asked of you. You were protecting the lives of its citizens. And you paid a steep price for it. In my book, you’re a hero, Signe.”
Oh. His words could hollow her out, except, well . . . She held up the bracelet. “Except for this.”
“Yeah, about that.” He looked over at a man standing in the shadows. He stepped forward, past the president. “This is my friend Roy—”
“You stay back!” Signe took a running start, and before Ham could stop her, she’d launched herself at Roy, vaulted up his leg, twisted around his body, slung her leg around his neck, and clasped her legs together in a rear triangle choke hold.
And just like that, the man was down.
Apparently, she’d forgotten she was wearing a dress, or perhaps she didn’t care. Somewhere in there, however, she’d lost her fancy shoes.
“Signe! Stop!” White said.
Roy had his hands up, clasping her legs. “Let me go!”
“He tried to kill me in Germany!”
“I didn’t!” He looked up. “Ham?”
Ham stepped up to him. “Signe, this is Royal Benjamin. He used to be on my team.”
“I cut him. Check his knuckles.”
“It’s true, but I was trying to help you. I was your contact.”
She went silent.
“My tag. It’s a bonefrog, Signe. See?” Royal lifted his arm, pulling back his sleeve, his air clearly cutting out.
“You can trust him, Signe. But thanks for the save,” the president said.
She released her legs, scooted away. “Where were you, in Germany?”
Roy sat up, catching his breath. “Sheesh.”
Ham was grinning at her. But he held out a hand to Roy.
Roy got up. “I know I let everything go south. It’s my fault. I got there early and I saw Martin, and I needed to know what he was up to, so I hung back.”
“And left me to hang.”
“I was there—I followed you. But I needed to know what his game was, so—”
“So you let him try and kill me. Kill my friends.” She found her feet.
“I’m sorry about that. Really. I shot him in Germany when he tried to take you, but clearly I underestimated him.”
“I think we all underestimated this entire conspiracy,” White said.
“I didn’t,” Signe said.
Ham looked at her, his mouth hiding a smile.
She shrugged, but her mouth was a tight bud of anger, her eyes hard on Roy.
“When this is over, clearly you’ll still have a job with the CIA,” White said.
“Not unless I can serve down here.” She held up the bracelet. “Bomb, anyone?”
“I got
this,” Roy said.
“Without cutting my arm off?”
“Maybe we should evacuate you, sir, just in case,” Ham said.
White headed down the tunnel but turned. “Thank you, Ham. For everything. You’re a good man and a credit to your country.”
Signe watched Ham, the way White’s words hit him. The look on his face found her heart.
He was a good man, and she’d spend the rest of her life reminding him of that.
Roy had her arm out, was looking at the clasp. “I’ve seen this before. It’s like a shoe bomb, except it has a firing pin meant to ignite the TATP in the bracelet. I’m not sure how much explosive is in here, but it would have definitely caused damage. I just need to separate the pin from the ignition chamber.” He pulled out his Ka-Bar. “Better look away,” he said to Signe.
“What?”
He was laughing as he stuck the end into the lock and twisted.
The lock broke and she caught it before it fell onto the cement floor.
“Good nab,” Roy said. He held out his hand.
She noticed his scarred knuckles. “Sorry.”
“My bad. I shouldn’t have let you get in trouble.”
She rubbed her wrist. Looked at Ham. “I’m going to find Tsarnaev.”
He held out his hand. “Not without me you’re not.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THIS IS HOW it should have been from the beginning.
Signe and Ham, working together, hunting down a terrorist.
Saving lives.
Just like they had poor, sweet Caesar from the storm drain.
“Security has Tsarnaev leaving shortly after Jackson. It looks like he’s headed the other direction.” Ham braced one hand on the back of the security officer’s chair.
“See if you can pick him up outside,” Signe said. She had changed clothes into cargo pants, a flannel shirt over her T-shirt, and her Cons.
In the security room, Scarlett and Ruby Jane were trying to unlock the cell phone. Logan and York had taken Martin into another room, probably for interrogation.
Jake had gone to the hospital with Aria. Apparently, he’d taken a good blow to the noggin. Orion, too, needed stitches, and Jenny had ridden with him in the ambulance.
The ball hadn’t been evacuated—the news of the bomb threat diminished before Logan could galvanize his team.
Which meant that no one in Washington knew that Jackson and her alliances planned on dismantling the world order.
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