Capitol Danger

by J. D. Tyler

  Finally, a prospect. A scary-looking black SUV—because what the hell else would it be?—rolled up to the corner next to where she stood. She couldn’t run ten more feet, so she sincerely hoped this was the person she was waiting for.

  The passenger’s door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man emerged. He wore his brown hair neat, and she saw right away he was a handsome man. Not nearly as sexy as Dalton, but still.

  “Noah Beck,” he said smoothly, approaching her in a non-threatening manner, hands at his sides.

  “Identification?”

  With a nod, he reached into the breast pocket of his suit and brought forth a brown wallet, offering it to her. Jolie took it, and studied the credentials. This was indeed SAC Noah Beck of the Dallas field office, FBI.

  She sagged in relief and he gently took her arm.

  “Let me help you into the SUV. First, I’ll take those weapons.” He arched a brow.

  “Oh!” Sheepishly, she handed over the gun and rifle that had save her life and Dalton’s. It actually felt weird surrendering them.

  Once he’d stowed them in the very back compartment, he turned to her again. “Where’s Dalton?”

  “That asshole, Methan,” she gasped, pulling back. “He jumped us back there, and Dalton told me to run! I left them two blocks south.”

  The agent swore as he helped her into the back. She wasn’t surprised to see there was another agent sharing the middle seat with her, a younger redheaded one who simply nodded. Noah instructed the driver to hurry.

  But when they arrived, there was no sign of either of the men. They drove around and Jolie began to slump in disappointment—until Noah received a call.

  His conversation was brief, and frightening. She knew he was talking to Dalton, and that something had gone terribly wrong. From what she was able to piece together, her agent was in serious trouble.

  “Do whatever you can to avert this, Dalton. I don’t have to tell you how this will end if you don’t.”

  Whatever he was being forced to do, it could get him killed.

  Noah ended the call, jaw clenching in anger. Even from her seat in the back, she could see the frustration and fear in his profile. “Son of a bitch.”

  “They’ve got him?”

  “Yes. Methan does. Dalton asked me to have the barricade cleared from in front of the hotel.”

  “You can’t do that and he knows it,” the redheaded agent said.

  “I know. He just wanted us to be aware of the situation and be ready.” Noah turned in his seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  “Jolie Montfort. I’m a reporter for Channel Eight News out of Dallas.”

  “Of course.” Noah’s voice was warm. “I remember you from the Samson case.”

  The expected groan came from all three agents, in stereo. It would’ve been funny if the situation wasn’t so critical. “I know, all of this is off the record. Believe me, gentlemen, I just want to get home in one piece. Frankly I don’t care if I ever see D.C. again after this.”

  “That makes two of us,” Noah muttered. “We don’t have time to take you anywhere. Stay down back there and do as we say, and we’ll have someone give you a ride to your hotel when this is over.”

  “Um, I was staying at the Fierenze.”

  “Oh. Well, we’ll have someone collect your things and take you to a different hotel, since I can’t imagine you’d want to stay there now even if you could.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  The SUV rolled back toward the hotel, and she took a second to check her phone. If possible, her messages had doubled. One of the last texts had her almost crying in relief.

  Bill: WHERE THE FUCK RU?!! U OK?!!

  Shaking, she typed a quick response.

  I’m ok now. Out of the hotel. Explain later.

  Bill: THANK FUCK!!

  Smiling, she put the phone to sleep again. She almost managed to pretend the ordeal was over, but all too soon, they were rolling to a stop near the barricade in front of the hotel.

  Noah turned and addressed the redhead. “Agent Elliot, please escort Miss Montfort safely away from the front of the building to the west checkpoint and remain with her until we can arrange to retrieve her things and get her out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young agent flashed her a bright smile. “Ready, Miss Montfort?”

  “Jolie, please.”

  That earned her an endearing blush, and she wondered whether Dalton’s entire team was good-looking. This one, though, appeared to be barely out of the academy.

  Before she could thank Noah, he was out of the SUV and striding away, his attention focused on the main street leading straight to the hotel. If an attack was coming by ground, it would be from that way, she thought. Fear coiled through her for Dalton. Not knowing what was going on was eating at her.

  Much more than it should, since she’d only met him a couple of times before and had barely spent more than two hours with him.

  Reluctantly, she allowed Agent Elliot to lead her to the checkpoint.

  * * * * *

  Halfway to their destination, Dalton pressed the brakes—and very little response happened. The van barely slowed.

  “You cut the brake lines?” he shouted, incredulous, darting a look at his nemesis. He wanted to put a bullet in Methan’s smirking face.

  “What better way to make sure you can’t stop?”

  “You couldn’t have been sure you’d catch me tonight. This could’ve been all for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing,” the bastard disagreed. “I was prepared to drive the van myself. But you fell into my lap, so I get to kill many birds with one stone.”

  “You’re a fucked-up excuse for a human being. Your whole group needs to be put down like rabid dogs.”

  “Careful, Agent. Your losing your infamous cool.”

  Fuck that psycho. Clamping his lips shut, he was determined not to rise to the bait again. Instead, he concentrated on driving slowly. Each corner he had to turn was more of a nightmare, though, because the brakes were about gone.

  And he was handcuffed to a possible moving bomb.

  There had to be a way out. Had to.

  Methan’s gun was held in the man’s right hand, Methan’s body turned slightly facing Dalton. If Dalton could get the gun from him, he could shoot the asshole, and maybe free himself before this thing crashed and blew sky-high.

  Those were a big pile of if’s but they were all he had left.

  When the van careened around the last corner, Dalton had his rough plan in place. Before Methan could even give the order, Dalton floored the gas, throwing the terrorist backward in the seat. Taking advantage, and having only one shot, he made it count.

  Balling his fist, he delivered the hardest punch possible to the side of the other man’s head, snapping it to the side. Methan’s head smacked the passenger-side window, and Dalton wasted no time grabbing the man’s gun before it fell to the floorboard.

  It was then that he spotted the snipers on the rooftops ahead.

  * * * * *

  Jolie watched in horror as the van careened around the corner down the street and accelerated. Movement on the rooftops nearby caught her attention and fear gripped her.

  Snipers. Dalton’s own men. Preparing to shoot.

  As the van barreled closer, it was apparent some sort of struggle was taking place inside.

  Almost in slow motion, she saw Noah, jogging forward, waving his arms. “Hold your fucking fire! Don’t shoot!”

  But it didn’t stop them.

  When the shots rang out, her knees nearly gave way.

  * * * * *

  Bullets punched through the windshield, one tearing though Dalton’s seat. If he hadn’t leaned over to slug Methan again, who was grabbing to get the gun back, he’d be dead.

  The next bullet hit Methan’s shoulder, and a spray of red arched through the van’s cab. The man screamed, clutching his shoulder, then scrabbled at the door handle.

  “Wan
t out? Let me help.”

  With that, Dalton gave him a shove, and the terrorist vanished. With any luck, he’d be quickly apprehended, wounded as he was. They needed him alive for questioning.

  The hotel was coming up too fast. Working quickly, he shut off the ignition, trying to slow the vehicle some. Then he pointed the gun at the links in the cuffs and started firing.

  The noise was deafening in the cab, but several shots worked. The links were severed, just in time. Another bullet came through the windshield, one of them very close to his head as he flung open the door to the van. He had one second to think that maybe his own guys weren’t trying very hard to take out one of their own—

  And then he pulled hard on the steering wheel, and jumped.

  Hitting the ground hard, Dalton heard the screech of metal as the van flipped and slid away from him. He wasn’t sure how many feet his body skidded and rolled on the pavement before he finally stopped. All he knew was every cell in his body was in agony.

  He heard Noah’s voice shout, “The van didn’t blow—”

  Just before the world exploded in a massive ball of flame, and he knew nothing more.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jolie pushed at Agent Elliot, desperate for him to let her go.

  “They’re shooting at him! Make them stop!”

  “You have to stay here!”

  “Hold your fire!” Noah screamed again.

  Then the passenger-side door of the van was flung open, and a man tumbled out. Immediately a couple of agents converged on the man and took him to the ground. Another shot was fired at the van, and then the driver’s door opened. She prayed it was Dalton, and he would get away safely.

  The driver bailed out, and she caught a glint of blond hair in the streetlights as he rolled. Then the van careened away, tipping on its side to crash about fifty yards from him—but still way too close in her estimation.

  She strained to get away from the agent holding her. She could see that Dalton wasn’t moving, and heard the speculation around them as to whether it was safe to approach because of the van’s possible contents.

  Noah spoke up. “The van didn’t blow—”

  Which was, precisely, when it blew sky-high. The flames shot up, smoke billowing outward to engulf the still, blond figure on the pavement.

  “Nooo!”

  The agent had her in a vise. He might be young and appear barely old enough to drink, but he was strong. She wasn’t getting away from him without subterfuge. Gasping, she went limp in a dead faint.

  “Miss Montfort! Crap.” Crouching next to her, he patted her face. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Can I get some help over here?”

  Cracking one eye open, she saw that he’d stood briefly to wave over a couple of paramedics. Rolling to her hands and knees, she took off like a shot.

  “Hey! Stop!”

  Quickly, she lost herself in the crowd—or as much as possible wearing dirty sequins and looking like she’d slept all night in a ditch. She had one focus, and that was the man on the ground who was now surrounded by paramedics, while firefighters in HAZMAT suits dealt with the blaze from the van.

  There was simply too much chaos for anyone to stop her, and she made it all the way to Dalton’s side, dropping next to him. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, tears finally pricking her eyes. She’d made it all evening without giving in to the tears, but she was helpless to stop them now.

  Her agent was lying sprawled on his stomach, eyes closed, the skin on his arms and hands torn, probably from skidding on the pavement. His face was scratched as well, and he was covered in blood, clothing torn.

  “Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to step back.” The older medic who’d spoken was gazing at her kindly.

  “He’s an FBI agent,” she told them in a rush. “He doesn’t have any ID on him. His name is Dalton McCoy, and he’s got two gunshot wounds he sustained earlier this evening from fighting off the terrorists in the hotel.”

  She clearly had gained his attention. “Where are the wounds located?”

  “One to his right shoulder, one in his left thigh. I patched them up as best as I could, but he’s been bleeding slowly for a while now.”

  The medic nodded. “Thank you, we appreciate the information. Now, if you’ll give us some space, we’ll finish working on him. Then you can catch up with your friend at the hospital, okay?”

  She nodded, the tears still flowing. “Yes. Thanks.”

  Reaching out, she touched Dalton’s hair briefly before standing on shaky legs. Before she could so much as turn around, Agent Elliot had caught up to her and was looking thoroughly pissed.

  She held up her hands in a “peace” gesture. “Sorry. I had to see about Dalton. I won’t run off again.”

  “Shit.” He blew out a breath. “All right.”

  He stood with her out of the way as the medics turned Dalton to his back and started an IV, took his vitals. Noah hovered as well, worry written all over his face. They all stayed put until the agent was placed into the back of the ambulance and taken away. Finally, Noah turned to Agent Elliot.

  “Would you see that Miss Montfort gets her things from the hotel and gets situated somewhere else? Then I imagine she’ll want to ride with you to the hospital.”

  “Yes, I’d like that,” she put in.

  “No problem,” the redhead said, nodding. After Noah walked away, he said, “Ready?”

  “You bet, Agent Elliot. I can’t wait to see the last of this shitty town.”

  “You and me both. And call me Jack,” he said with a grin. “Something tells me you and I are going to see a lot more of each other.”

  She laughed and wiped her cheeks. “I don’t know about that. I just know your friend saved my life and I’m not going home until I know he’s okay.”

  “Hmm.”

  Jack just smiled to himself and didn’t speculate further.

  That was fine by Jolie. She didn’t know what the future held, but in some crazy way, perhaps a door had been opened tonight.

  She wouldn’t mind seeing where it led.

  * * * * *

  There was pain. So much.

  All over.

  At first he couldn’t feel his limbs, wasn’t even aware if there was anyone nearby. There was just nothing but the sensation that he was being turned inside out. Like someone had taken him and skinned him alive, then beaten him for good measure.

  Gradually, he became aware of waking. He heard noises, people talking, though he couldn’t understand what they were saying. He heard the concern in their voices, but that was all. Someone would take his hand, gently, because that hurt, too. Touch his arm. Talk softly.

  The fingers combing through his hair were the best. He tried to turn his head into the touch, so whoever was there would know how damned good that felt when literally nothing else did. Sometimes he’d hear a woman’s soft laugh, and it called to a memory he couldn’t place.

  He wasn’t sure exactly when the name returned to him, along with some of his brain cells. But when it did, he fought harder to swim to the surface of the water and breathe.

  Jolie. His pretty survivor with violet eyes. Who was all woman and handled a gun like a man.

  Wait, was that sexist? If so, she could beat it out of him. Any time.

  “What are you laughing about, cowboy?” a voice purred next to his ear.

  He’d been laughing? Licking his lips, he tried to speak. “Jolie.” Her name emerged as a slur, like he’d been on a five-day bender, but she sounded happy.

  “That’s right! It’s about time you joined the living again.”

  “Huh. How long…?” He coughed, and she patted his arm.

  “How long have you been out? Almost forty-eight hours. You were beat to hell, Agent. You’ve got a list a mile long of people waiting to see you.”

  He struggled to assimilate all of that. “Why?”

  “You don’t remember? The attack on the hotel, us escaping, Methan catching you, crashing the van?”

>   She waited, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He fought to open his eyes and finally succeeded, and it took forever for his vision to clear. When it did, her gorgeous face was beaming down at him like she’d just won the lottery.

  He quirked a smile back, or made the attempt. “You’re a damn good sight.”

  “I’m glad. Thought maybe you were happy to see the last of me, before.”

  Before. Studying her, he thought back, and gradually the events of that night filtered into his brain again. He remembered everything.

  “No way. I’d be sad if you were gone already.”

  “Then I’m happy I stayed.” Leaning over, she kissed his cheek.

  “Knock-knock,” Noah said from the doorway. “Hey, sorry to interrupt.”

  “You don’t sound sorry, you bastard.”

  “Wow, someone’s feeling better.” Grinning, Noah came to stand at the foot of his bed.

  “Well, I was until you harshed my groove here.”

  “Harshed your what?” Noah shook his head. “Never mind. Jolie, hon, can I talk to Dalton for a few minutes? You can have him back soon, I promise.”

  “Sure.” She gave Dalton a quick kiss on the lips. “See you soon.”

  “Hurry back.”

  Once Jolie was gone, Noah clutched Dalton’s shoulder briefly. “You don’t know how relieved I am that you’re healing.” He took Jolie’s vacated seat, studying Dalton in concern.

  “Makes two of us.”

  “The reporter has a thing for you,” he observed.

  “The reporter has a name.”

  “Hey, cool your jets. I didn’t mean anything by it. Looks like you have a thing for her, too.”

  “Could be. It’s new, you know?”

  “Yeah. Just be careful that it’s not one of those bonds forged because you survived a traumatic experience together when you have nothing else in common. Two experiences, actually, if you count the Samson case.”