by J. D. Tyler
“You can get plenty of sleep when you get out of here.”
“Maybe.”
“How long have you been undercover with this group?”
“Months. Never made it to Methan’s inner circle, which is why I couldn’t blow the whistle on this whole operation tonight.”
She admired him for that. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who would’ve let all of this go down if you could’ve prevented it.”
“Damn straight I wouldn’t have.” Anger and frustration colored his voice. “Then one of Methan’s men came to see me at my hotel tonight, told me what was going down. I was wearing the transmitter and praying my guys were getting every word. Apparently not. Could be the man was using some sort of scrambling device while we talked, but I may never know.”
“Damn.”
He paused. “You know all of this is off the record, right?”
She grimaced in the dark, even though he couldn’t see her. Visions of her big story were fast going up in smoke, and sheer survival was taking front and center. As far as the agent? Something deep inside told her that if she betrayed him by telling this story and his part in it, he’d never forgive her.
For some strange reason, she wanted his trust.
“I give you my word I won’t use the video I made of you, or mention your name when I recount what happened to me tonight.” He made an unhappy noise, and she pressed on. “Dalton, my boss is going to demand I give him something. I won’t use your name or that my source was an undercover agent at all. Will that suffice?”
“I suppose so,” he said reluctantly.
“Here. I’ll erase this right now, while I’m thinking about it.” Taking out her cell phone, she pulled up the video and the bright screen lit the room. First, she checked her cell service. “Still no signal.”
“Shit.”
Without bothering to view the video again, she dumped it in the trash, then emptied it from the trash. “There. It’s gone.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I have some sense, you know, even for a reporter. I don’t want the FBI up my ass for endangering one of their agents, and I wouldn’t dare place you in harm’s way by publishing your name.”
“I think I actually believe you.” She could hear the grin in his words. “Texas girl, huh?”
“You bet, and proud of it.”
“Coincidence. I’m a Texas boy and proud of it. I’m actually based out of the Dallas field office, where we met before.”
“Really?” Her heart kicked behind her ribs. “You live in Dallas?”
“About a half an hour north of the metroplex. Got a little place just past McKinney. You should come see it sometime.”
A warm glow spread all over, and she smiled. “I’d like that. When we get home, you know where to find me.”
“Oh, yes I do.”
With that, he leaned over and his fingers brushed her hair, searching. Tentatively, the pads of his fingers gently traced a path down her face, brushed her lips. Then his big hands cupped her jaw and he slowly lowered his lips to hers.
His lips were heaven. Full and soft, with just the right firmness as he angled his head over hers and deepened the kiss. His tongue went exploring, tangling with hers, and she moaned, every cell in her body wanting so much more than either of them could do now, tonight.
God, he smelled wonderful. Like sweat and clean male, and a hint of the aftershave he must’ve used earlier. It was a deadly combination, and she had to pull back before things went too far.
“Should I apologize, Joelle?” he asked, voice husky.
“Not on your life. And call me Jolie, please.”
His laugh was tinged with relief. “Good. All the shit I’ve been through the past few months has been worth it, since it led to that moment.”
That was such a sweet thing to say, she didn’t know how to respond. Then the door clanged down the hallway again and voices returned, moving closer. Quickly they parted, and she shoved her cell phone back into her purse. Opting for the automatic weapon, she readied it and waited. Next to her, she felt Dalton’s body strung tight as he did the same.
The men outside were checking doors, cursing. They were griping about the fucked-up mission, and their conversation made it pretty certain these were more of the Red Mantle. Still, she and Dalton waited. The men stopped at the storage room, and any hopes they’d bypass the area were dashed as they began trying to gain entrance, declaring their might be people hiding in there. Of course, it was locked from the outside, so they started kicking. When that didn’t work, one of the men shot off the lock, and the door slammed open.
One of the men reached inside, and the light flicked on.
What the two black-clad men didn’t expect was for their “victims” to be every bit as armed as they were themselves. Their eyes rounded.
“Surprise,” Dalton said.
And opened fire, spraying them both with bullets. Jolie didn’t even have a chance to fire a shot before both men were lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Not that she’d wanted to shoot, but she would have if there had been time. Dalton had taken care of them, avoiding the protective flak jackets—and in doing so created a mess she avoided looking at directly.
Pushing to his feet, he limped stiffly on his wounded leg before offering her a hand up. “And on that note, it’s time to give up our hiding spot and get the fuck out of Dodge.”
“Agreed.” She shivered, followed him out of the storage room, stepped around the bodies, and didn’t look back.
Cautiously, they returned to the stairwell and continued their descent to the basement. All the while, they listened and watched for others, and the silence of the hotel was seriously creeping her out. It was as if the whole building was holding its breath, and for what she didn’t know. She wanted out before whatever was going to happen came at them next.
Taking Jolie’s hand, Dalton led her down one last long corridor. His pistol was clutched in the other hand, and he searched left and right, brows furrowed, ready for attack.
None came, and they reached another storage area. This one was packed with seasonal stuff, and as they made their way around the boxes of items, Jolie finally spotted the hole in the wall at the back.
“That leads to the steam tunnels?” she asked.
“Yeah. They were built decades ago, but the city closed most of them for safety reasons. This is our way out of here, but we have to stay on guard. The Mantle made this entrance, but hopefully the ones that aren’t dead have left the hotel by now.”
Jolie had to admit, stepping into the tunnel and making her way in the dank gloom with an FBI agent was strangely exciting. She sort of felt like she’d stepped right into a Harry Potter movie, what with the scary tunnel dripping with God-knows-what crap, rats scurrying, and the hero dragging her along so fast she had to work to keep up.
All they needed was a fanged monster to pop out from behind a pillar, and the night would be complete.
Making their way through the system took a while, and Jolie lost track of time. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and getting to where they were going without doing a face plant in something really gross. And in a formal dress, no less, that was beyond ruined.
At last, Dalton led them to an adjacent tunnel that veered upward. A few more steps and they were out an exit and onto the street. Just like that. Freedom and the sight of the lights of Washington D.C. at night had never looked so good.
“Thank God,” she breathed.
“Yeah.” He turned to her. “Check your cell phone again. Communication shouldn’t be jammed this far away from the hotel.”
“Right.” Fumbling in her purse, she brought out the device, unlocked the screen, and looked. The phone had exploded with text messages and missed calls, many of them from her boss. A couple, she noted, were from friends.
OMG, what’s up?! The news said—
“Can I borrow that? I need to make a call.”
“Sure.” She
gladly handed the phone over to him, not looking forward to returning all of the frantic messages. So, the attack had hit the news. She’d been out-scooped, again.
On the plus side, she was alive and standing next to the sexiest agent she’d ever met.
Dalton didn’t bother to turn away as he dialed whoever he was trying to reach, so she remained close. Apparently, someone answered because the relief on his face was enormous.
“Red lights,” he said sharply. Speaking quickly, he named the intersection where they were standing. He listened for a moment. Then, “Yeah, I’m fine. Took two, shoulder and leg. Got a survivor with me. Okay, see you.”
The fact that he swayed as he ended the call told her he wasn’t nearly as fine as he’d led the other person to think. She took the phone back and eyed him. “Was that your boss?”
He nodded. “My SAC, Noah Beck. He’s on his way.” When he started down the sidewalk, she grabbed his arm.
“But you told him we were at this intersection. Where are we going?”
“Two blocks north. Never give your actual location on an unsecure phone. Noah knows where we’re really headed.”
“Ah. Good plan.”
Dalton was just about to turn when he froze, eyes widening at something just over her shoulder. In the next instant, something round and hard was pressed to the back of her head and her legs turned to jelly. Dalton’s gun hand twitched, but the voice behind her chuckled, low and menacing.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Agent. Drop it, and the automatic too.”
If looks could kill, the man behind Jolie would’ve dropped dead. Dalton did as he was told, glaring at this new threat the whole time. “Methan. So, you know who I am.”
“For some weeks now. Did you honestly believe you could infiltrate my group and I wouldn’t dig until I learned your secrets? Your cover was thin at best, and your Bureau made a mistake in sending someone who simply doesn’t fit our profile.”
“Which is?”
“You didn’t have the fire, weren’t nearly angry enough. And your acting needs work—not that you’ll get the chance to hone your skills.”
“Hey, my acting was fine. You’re just a paranoid douche bag.”
Jolie cringed, but the “douche bag” actually laughed.
“With good reason, it appears. So now you get to play a very important role, perhaps the most vital one of your short life.”
“A role? I thought you were here to kill me.”
“Oh, I’m going to, in a roundabout way.” He paused, and satisfaction filled his oily voice.
“You, Agent, are going to carry out a mission for the Mantle after all.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Dalton’s brain scrambled for a way out of this. Any way.
Failing that, he’d settle for getting Jolie free of Methan so she could run far from here. Or at least to meet Noah, who’d be arriving shortly.
Dalton’s eyes met Jolie’s frightened ones, and he read determination there. Without speaking, she understood that if she allowed Methan to take her along, he’d kill her. She was also leverage the terrorist could use to keep Dalton compliant. She had to get away. There was no other choice.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked Methan.
“Start walking. I’ll show you when we get there.”
They were out of time. Jolie knew it too, and in an instant, she went limp, allowing herself to fall to the ground. Since the leader hadn’t been holding her, it left him completely exposed to Dalton, who rushed him in a blink.
“Run! Red lights!” Dalton shouted at her, hoping she understood the message. Go to Noah. Don’t look back.
He hit the terrorist leader hard as a shot went wide, practically singeing his hair. They went down together and rolled, Dalton grabbing at the other man’s wrist to try and dislodge the gun from his grasp.
Methan wasn’t wounded, though, and fought like the dangerous viper he was. As they rolled, and the bastard began to gain the upper hand, Dalton was grateful when he spied Jolie’s retreating figure disappear down the block.
A blow to his head made his ears ring, and he struggled to remain conscious. Immediately the muzzle of the gun was pressed to his head and he stilled. Methan was sneering down at him in victory.
“The woman left you. Typical, eh? This is why they belong in one place and one place only. The Red Mantle will correct what is wrong with society, even though people like you have allowed it to become so twisted.”
He couldn’t believe this guy bought the shit that was spewing from his mouth.
“Come on, Agent. We don’t have much time to finish our work.”
Methan actually believed whatever destruction he was about to carry out was his work. How could the government fight that mindset, especially when the corruption reached all the way to the top?
Dalton was unceremoniously hauled to his feet and shoved toward the mouth of an alley. They walked in silence, the other man’s weapon firmly lodged in the middle of his back, until a dark van came into view.
“You’re going to drive,” Methan said.
“I figured as much.”
Moving around him, the terrorist tossed him the keys. “Get in on the passenger’s side, then move over.”
Gritting his teeth, Dalton did as he was told. Methan was taking no chances in letting him out of his sight for even one second. Once Dalton was in place, he put the key in the ignition and waited.
“Start the van and drive. We’re headed back to the hotel.”
“Are you crazy?” he blurted. “The whole area will be blocked off by agents.”
Methan’s grin was a slash of white in the darkness. “Exactly. That’s why you’re going to make a call to your superior, using this phone.” He held up the device. “You’re going to explain that you’re driving a van loaded with explosives, and they’re to let you through the barricade to complete your mission.”
Turning in his seat, Dalton peered into the darkened cargo space. Hulking back there were cases and cases stacked with something—but no way to tell if there really were explosives aboard or if it was all a bluff.
He stared back at Methan. “You’re insane. They’ll be forced to shoot me in the head before they let me drive a van full of explosives into a hotel that probably still has people inside. Hell, there are agents crawling all over it by now!”
“That’s the choice they’ll have to make, isn’t it? Pity that.”
His false sympathy stirred Dalton’s anger to a slow boil of rage. “Those aren’t even explosives, are they? You’re going to start a national incident over this alone—the government orders the assassination of an agent who was acting under duress, and they’ll have done it for nothing. They’ll have egg on their faces when they find out there was nothing but crates back there.”
The man shrugged. “Are they just crates? You’ll never know because you’ll be dead by then.” He held out the phone. “Make the call.”
God, help me out of this. Please.
Trying to quell the shaking of his hands, he took the phone and placed another call to Noah. It rang three times on the other end before his boss answered.
“McCoy,” Dalton said. That alone would tell Noah that Dalton’s cover was blown, and he was in deep trouble. No way would he be making their rendezvous point.
“Where are you?” Noah asked with deceptive calm. “What’s going on?”
“I need for you to clear the barricades right in front of the hotel.”
A beat of silence. Then, “You know I can’t do that, right?”
There was a wealth of knowledge and sadness in that one statement. Noah knew what was going down.
“Yeah, I know.”
“This is a terrorist act about to take place.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re an unwilling participant.”
“Yes. God, yes,” he croaked.
“Do whatever you can to avert this, Dalton. I don’t have to tell you how this will end if you don’t.”
“No, you don’t.”
Homeland would put a bullet in his head. Nice and easy.
“You can do this,” Noah said. “Get it done and get clear.”
“Yeah.”
As soon as he ended the call, Methan took back the phone. “Time to roll.”
Dalton had never heard more ominous words in his life. If he survived this, he was swearing off of any case that had to do with Homeland Security. Ever again.
“First, do this.”
He stared at the handcuffs Methan dangled in front of his face. “What the fuck?”
“Cuff yourself to the steering wheel.”
Cold fear washed over him like ice. “No fucking way.”
“Do it, or I’ll simply put a bullet in your head now and save your Bureau the trouble.” The hardness in his dark eyes said he wasn’t wasting any more time.
Heart sinking, he cuffed his left wrist to the steering wheel, leaving his dominant hand—and the one closest to Methan—free. Hopefully it was an oversight he could use to his advantage.
Goddamn the bastard for making sure he couldn’t jump free of the van. At least not without help.
He had to think of a way to end this without winding up dead.
And right now, that prospect was looking pretty grim.
* * * * *
As the men struggled on the ground, Jolie ran.
Though she felt an insane urge to go back, to help the man she was quickly becoming attached to, she knew she’d be more of a liability than an asset if she did.
So she kept going, a stitch developing in her side after the first block. She wasn’t a runner, and fleeing for her life in downtown D.C. hadn’t been on the agenda. By the time she made it to the second block, she had to hold on to the side of a building and catch her breath.
Two blocks north. That’s what Dalton had said, and where his boss was supposed to pick them up, right? Had she run in the right direction? After doing a mental calculation, she figured she had.
Frantic, she looked around, craning her neck for any sign of a vehicle that appeared official. Or one that seemed to be searching for someone. There was very little traffic in this area, and what few cars rolled past, she easily identified the drivers as the sole occupants, on their way to somewhere that had nothing to do with her.