by Pamela Clare
“You’re right. We hold all the cards. Maybe it’s time we went on the offensive.”
* * *
Zach pulled off the road a few hundred feet from the farmhouse, patrol vehicles of all kinds parked along the shoulder.
“Looks like every LEO in the county is here,” Javier said.
“You know how it is. Anything big happens, and every officer within driving distance wants to be a part of it.”
“The media, too.”
Two television trucks sat parked nearby, reporters standing along the yellow crime scene tape that was stretched across the mouth of the driveway.
Zach had left Denver with Corbray as soon as they’d gotten word, flying by helo to the Ríos County Airport, where a rental had been waiting for them. Neither Darcangelo nor Hunter had been able to join them, as both had duty shifts today.
“Those must be feds.” Corbray pointed with a jerk of his head to unmarked vehicles farther down the road.
“I wondered when the FBI was going to get into the game.” Zach clipped his badge to his belt, handed another to Javier. “Don’t go waving this around. You aren’t officially deputized. I just don’t want you getting thrown out of the crime scene.”
“Got it. Thanks, man.”
“Don’t thank me. Buy me a beer.” He opened the door and climbed out into the heat, locking the vehicle behind him.
Sheriff’s deputies milled about near the back porch, a few city police with them, while the sheriff stood on the porch talking with a couple of men in suits.
Corbray grinned. “Darcangelo is going to be bummed he missed this. He loves watching his former employer get dressed down by you marshals.”
“I’m glad I provide him with entertainment.” Zach didn’t care much for the dick fight between his organization and the alphabet soup agencies, but there were days when the marshal’s badge came in handy.
He ducked under the yellow tape, Corbray behind him, then made his way across the yard, up the steps, and onto the porch. He held his hand out to the man standing next to the sheriff. “Chief Deputy US Marshal Zach McBride. This is Deputy Marshal Corbray. The marshals service has claimed jurisdiction in the abduction of journalist Holly Bradshaw, as I’m sure you’re all aware.”
“I’m Special Agent Doug Meeker, and this is Special Agent Cal Lopez. You’re hanging by a thread on that jurisdiction claim, marshal.”
Zach grinned. “The point is, we’re hanging on. Sheriff, can you fill us in?”
Sheriff Davidson told them how he’d been on a routine patrol when he’d seen tire tracks in the grass and had stopped to investigate. “We get vagrants sometimes. We’ve had people try to set up meth labs in some of the abandoned properties. You might have noticed that we have a lot of empty houses around here.”
Zach nodded. “Yes, I saw that.”
“I found a blue Honda Odyssey parked on the side of the barn. It had temp plates. I called it in, cleared the plates. At about that time, a young woman stepped out of the house. She had a cup of coffee in her hand and said hello. She invited me in and told me her fiancé was in the shower upstairs. I checked her ID, and we talked a little. She had a Kentucky driver’s license and seemed to know the area. She spoke with a convincing accent, too. The man she said was her fiancé came downstairs. They told me how they met and how they were down on their luck. They said she was pregnant and they needed a place to stay. Their IDs came back valid and clear. I believed them.”
“They told you she was pregnant?” Zach exchanged a glance with Javier.
If that was true, Andris was a dead man. He’d manipulated Holly into a sexual relationship to begin with. If he’d also gotten her pregnant . . .
“There was a car seat in the minivan. I asked if they had a child here with them. He said she was pregnant. She turned bright red.”
“Ms. Bradshaw blushed?” Zach asked.
“That doesn’t sound like Holly.” Corbray said what Zach was thinking.
“Yes, sir—as if it embarrassed her to talk about it. When I asked if that was true, she said that, yes, she was about three months along.”
Three months? In that case, Andris couldn’t be the father, even if it were true.
Zach made a mental note to update the BOLO with regard to Holly’s condition. She needed to be found so she could get prenatal care. “How did she look otherwise?”
“She seemed fine, though she was wearing a baseball cap and kept her face angled away from me. I guess she didn’t want me to get a good look at her. But with a face like hers . . .” The sheriff’s words trailed off. “I recognized her the moment I saw the BOLO. I’m sorry I didn’t catch it until this morning. We don’t get many fugitives down this way, and I don’t read through the notices every day.”
“I understand.” Zach wished to hell the man had called it in immediately.
The sheriff went on. “I have to say it didn’t look to me like she was being held against her will, though she did seem to defer to him.”
“What do you mean?” Zach asked.
“There were a few times when she looked over at him, waited for him to answer my questions. I got the sense that he was definitely the one in charge in the relationship. Still, there was a good five minutes or so when it was just the two of us. She had plenty of time to ask me for help or tell me her real name.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said Special Agent Meeker. “Captivity does strange things to people. Some start to identify with their kidnappers. Maybe she was afraid he’d come down and pop both of you before backup could arrive. Maybe she thought she was protecting you.”
“Some kidnapping victims all but forget their real names,” said Corbray.
Zach knew he was thinking of Laura.
The sheriff looked troubled. “I’d hate to think that I failed her. She seemed like a sweet young woman.”
“What kind of evidence did your CSI team find?” Zach asked.
“Fingerprints. That’s it. They didn’t leave anything behind, apart from several empty propane canisters on the side of the house near the generator.”
Then Zach caught sight of a man in a tailored gray suit walking toward them. He was Asian, in his mid-forties, and wore fancy black shades.
“Don’t look now, but I think the CIA is crashing the party,” muttered Corbray.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
Shit.
The man approached them, flashed his badge. “Lee Nguyen, Central Intelligence Agency. You must be Chief Deputy Marshal Zach McBride. I’ll need all evidence from this scene, including all reports and records, transferred into my custody.”
Sheriff Davidson scowled. “You can’t do that.”
“I can.” Nguyen took some folded pages out of his suit pocket and handed them to Zach. “I have a court order here transferring jurisdiction in this case to the Agency. We’ll need all files pertaining to the case delivered to our office in Denver ASAP. That includes any records Cobra International Solutions might have, Mr. Corbray.”
Zach handed the papers to Javier. “Looks authentic.”
Javier read them, then shoved them back into Nguyen’s hands. “You and your court order can kiss my ass. I’m not giving you access to any of our files.”
Nguyen smiled. “I know the two of you care about Ms. Bradshaw. That’s why you’ve been such a pain in the Agency’s ass. But if you want her back, the best thing you can do is get out of our way.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Nick scrolled through Dudaev’s seemingly endless supply of porn, rage on a slow burn inside him. Nguyen had acted like nothing had changed between them. Did he think Nick was a fucking idiot?
Nguyen had been there. He knew Bauer had assigned Nick to take out Dudaev and run surveillance on Holly. He’d been there during the debriefing after Nick had terminated Dudaev, and he’d helped Bauer grill Nick over Kramer’s death. He’d joked with Nick about his assignment with Holly and knew full well what Bauer had intended for her. And yet he’d h
ad the nerve to call Nick “brother.”
It sickened Nick.
Nguyen could have spoken out at any time to clear Nick’s name. He could have reached out to Nick to warn him like Kramer had tried to do. He could have gone to investigators and blown the top off this thing. The fact that Nick was still being hunted and Bauer was still sitting at his desk at Langley proved that Nguyen hadn’t said a damned thing. It didn’t take a genius IQ to guess why.
Nguyen must have been the one who’d betrayed them all to Dudaev. He’d been Bauer’s eyes and ears in Batumi.
Holly’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Is something wrong?”
She was in the middle of scanning key documents and uploading them to an encrypted file-storage site. Only Nick and Holly had the password to this account or even knew it existed. When they were ready and Nick’s surrender had been negotiated, they would send her CO the account information. Nick had already sent over Dudaev’s emails pertaining to the heroin shipments as a good-faith gesture.
“Nothing’s wrong.” He could see that she didn’t believe him. “Just thinking about Nguyen.”
She stood, walked around behind him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “It hurts to be betrayed by a friend.”
Nick closed the image on his screen—a photo of a girl blowing two men simultaneously—not wanting Holly to see such filth. “He was more than a friend.”
She sat on the bed nearby. “Why would he do this?”
Nick shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Money?”
Nguyen had never seemed greedy, though he did have a big, extended family he supported—grandparents, parents, an elderly auntie or two. But that’s one of the reasons he and Nick had connected. They both came from big families and were the sons of immigrants.
“I’m sorry.”
“When I woke up in the hospital in Germany, he was there, sitting beside the bed. I was drugged out of my mind on morphine. It took a moment for me to remember why I was there, what had happened. When I remembered that Dani was dead . . .” Nick swallowed, his throat tight. “Lee held my hand. He held my hand, and there were tears in his eyes. It was all bullshit. The whole time he was with me, Dani’s body was lying on a slab somewhere, and he was waiting for his cut of the money.”
“God, Nick. That’s terrible.” She stood, wrapped her arms around him again, kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to punch him right in the face—or, you know, do something worse.”
Nick couldn’t help but smile. What was it about Holly that made even the darkest moments seem lighter?
“They’re talking about us on CNN.” She reached for the TV remote and took the TV off mute.
“—County Sheriff’s office reported this afternoon that kidnapping victim Holly Elise Bradshaw was sighted at an abandoned farmhouse outside Los Ríos, Colorado, yesterday with the man who is believed to be holding her captive, Nick Andris. Andris, a former Delta Force operator who was decorated for his service in Afghanistan and Iraq, is also being sought by authorities in connection with the murder of Denver art gallery owner Sasha Dudayev. Let’s go to Rick Saunders, who’s at the scene.”
A man in a gray suit appeared on the screen. “I’m here at an abandoned farmhouse outside the small agricultural community of Los Ríos, Colorado, where investigators believe Nick Andris held Holly Elise Bradshaw for most of the past two weeks. You can see we have quite a law enforcement response . . .”
The camera cut to an image of sheriff’s deputies and police milling about outside the farmhouse, talking with one another.
“FBI officials, who are present at the scene, declined to comment, saying only that they’re close to apprehending Andris.”
Holly gave a squeal and pointed to the television, a smile on her face. “There’s Zach! And Javi, too! Look!”
The reporter droned on, while Holly’s smile slowly faded.
“You miss them.”
“They’re out there looking for me. I feel terrible. I haven’t been kidnapped. I’m with you by choice now. I hate that they’re worried for me.” Her gaze met his. “It’s worse for you. Your family is worried about you, too, but the whole world thinks you’re a murderer and a kidnapper. That must be so hard for them.”
Nick had been trying not to think about that. “There’s nothing we can do for them except bring this to an end. Like I said this afternoon, we hold all the cards. If we play them right . . .”
“A source close to the investigation says Ms. Bradshaw might be pregnant. Authorities are concerned about her well-being and hope to have her home soon.”
“What?” Holly gaped at the television. “Oh, great. Fantastic.”
“Well, that’s what we told the sheriff.”
She glared at him. “That’s what you told the sheriff.”
“I don’t seem to remember you having a better idea.”
She turned off the TV and dropped the remote onto the unmade bed. “What you said about going on the offensive—what did you have in mind?”
But Nick found himself staring at his computer screen. “What the fuck?”
“What is it?”
He scrolled through the next image and the next. “Photos of the warehouse.”
“The warehouse in Batumi?” She bent down beside him.
“Yeah.” There must have been a dozen shots taken from different vantage points. “Look at the date stamp. These were taken two days before the exchange. Someone on my team scoped it out for him, made certain he knew the plan.”
“Are you sure they were taken by one of your guys? If Dudaev knew where the exchange was going to happen, couldn’t he have sent one of his goons to do it?”
Nick shook his head. “My team had the warehouse under constant surveillance for two weeks. If anyone had gone near the place, I would have known. Someone on my team sent Dudaev these photos.”
He scrolled back to the first photo. “These first two shots show where the sentries were posted down the block. The next three show the positions of the snipers. This one gives an overview of the interior of the warehouse.”
There to one side was the forklift, exactly where it had been that night.
“Stay there!”
Rat-at-at-at-at!
“Dani! No!”
A hand touched Nick’s shoulder, made him jump.
“It can’t be easy to look at these.”
“I can still remember the terror in her eyes. She knew I’d been hit. She was afraid for me. She tried to get to me, but . . . The last thing we had was that glance across the room.” He swallowed, forced his grief aside. “Whoever took these photos knew the security plan. He was giving Dudaev everything he needed to prepare himself—the layout of the operation and the deployment of the men, the location of the firearms. It’s all right here.”
If he could remember who was on duty at the time the photos were taken, he’d be able to confirm the identity of Bauer’s accomplice. And if it was Nguyen . . .
Then God have mercy on him, because Nick sure as hell wouldn’t.
* * *
“This isn’t a plan. It’s suicide!” Holly fought to keep from shouting, her toothbrush clutched in her hand.
Nick rested his hands on her shoulders. “I know what I’m doing. He won’t kill me if he doesn’t have you. Hopefully it will give me time to get some answers.”
“He might not kill you, but a person can endure a lot of pain without dying. He’s going to hurt you, Nick.”
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Well, I hate this plan.” She turned, marched back into the bathroom, and began brushing her teeth with a fury.
He followed her. “If we stay here, it’s only a matter of time before someone finds us. Once we’re in custody, Bauer will send someone to take us both out. It won’t matter if the Agency figures it all out later. We’ll already be dead.”
She spat toothpaste in the sink and glared up at him. “So the only alternative to our being murdered is for you to hand your
self over to Nguyen? It’s probably a trap.”
“I expect it is.” He leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms over his bare chest. “It’s the fastest way I can think of to end this and get you home. Dudaev’s goons are probably in Colorado Springs now searching for us, and there’s a chance they’ll find us before we’ve got the proof we need to lock Bauer and Nguyen away. But, hey, if you’ve got a better idea, a viable alternative, I’m listening.”
She rinsed her mouth, then reached for the towel, her mind racing. “We should keep working on the photos, keep trying to reconstruct the week before the exchange.”
“We spent the past six hours doing that, and it got us nowhere. Whoever took the shots wasn’t stupid enough to photograph his own reflection, and it’s been two years. I can’t remember who was assigned surveillance duty that afternoon.”
She pushed past him, sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe the time stamp is enough. If you can remember where you were, give them a solid alibi, then at least they’ll know you didn’t give Dudaev the photos. We should contact my CO again, tell him what we found, send him—”
“I might be able to prove I didn’t take the photos, but that won’t keep me from frying for killing Dudaev. It won’t put Bauer in prison. Until he, Nguyen, and their mafia buddies are in custody, you and I have great big targets on our foreheads.”
“I could call Javier and Zach. We could show them the documents, explain things, prove to them that you’re innocent. You could surrender to the marshals service. Between CIS and the marshals, I know they’d keep us safe.”
“Can you be sure of that? Can you be sure there won’t be a firefight that costs McBride or Corbray his life? Besides, that would mean divulging classified data and outing yourself. Is that what you want? Your career would be over.”
“I don’t care about my career! We’re talking about your safety, your life.” Why couldn’t he understand? “We could upload the photos and key documents to a file-sharing site, email the password to my newspaper, and let Bauer and Nguyen know that if anything happens to us, the files will end up in print.”