by Dianna Love
She leaned forward. “Then why didn’t he kill her last night?”
“And end the game?” Cooper shook his head. “He wants to see the FBI and the DEA sweat. He likes knowing that we’re sitting here racking our brains trying to figure this out. That we’re running in circles playing catch up to him. He’s three steps ahead of us already, but the thing he’s living for right now, the ultimate power he wants is to terrorize the agent who brought him down.”
There were more head nods around the table. Cooper redirected to Dupé. “If I were you, sir, I’d bring Celina Davenport back to Carlsbad.”
Dupé’s pager went off. He stood without missing a beat or glancing at the readout and picked up his coffee cup. “All right, Agent Harris, bring her back. Safely. Chief Custov, call the airport and get one of our Cessna’s ready to fly Cooper to Des Moines. Have a safe house set up for Agent Davenport when they return.” He held out his hand to Cooper, and Cooper stood to shake it. “I’ll be waiting for your report when you and Agent Hawkins get back.”
In other words, let the game begin. “Yes, sir,” Cooper said and gave Lana a satisfied smile. She glared back as she rose, pushed in her chair, and swept her Daytimer off the table.
Cooper followed Dupé out with the rest of the group. Lana snuck up behind him. “Does Agent Hawkins know you sacrificed the last man you called partner for Celina Davenport? He’s lucky he didn’t end up in a wheelchair because of her as well.” She snickered under her breath as she pushed past him.
It was all Cooper could do not to clock her.
Instead he snatched his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed Celina’s. “I’m coming to get you,” he said when she answered.
He tucked the sigh of relief he heard in her voice deep into his chest and went to work.
Chapter Twelve
West Des Moines
The safe house was ensconced in a posh, but somehow benign neighborhood. Unlike the homes around it, it had wires on every door and window, bugs in every room and on every phone, fax, and cable line. Video cameras were tucked into the smoke detectors and ceiling fans. Everything that happened here would be recorded, analyzed, and used to not only keep her safe, but to document Emilio’s guilt if he showed up.
“He’ll find me here.” Celina stared at her reflection in the car’s window, expression closed, just like the FBI had taught her to keep it.
Forester, seated next to her, held himself responsible for the death of his agent and the injuries of the other two. Ronni was out of surgery, but still in serious condition. Forester had let Celina go to the hospital and sit with her for several hours. She hoped Ronni had heard her apologies through the drugs keeping her sedated.
So far, Forester hadn’t laid any blame at her feet and that surprised Celina. All hell had broken loose at HQ, the perfect time and circumstances to use her for the fall guy. Now, though, he was stepping up and taking the responsibility on his own shoulders. And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.
Miracle of miracles, he seemed to be listening when Celina told him things. He even seemed to believe her.
That didn’t stop him from questioning her, however. “We’ve changed cars three times and done a heat run all over Des Moines proper. Our escort keeping tabs on us swears we’re not being followed. How’s Londano going to find you?”
When Celina didn’t respond, he sighed. “How long until he shows up?”
She shrugged. “A day at most.”
Forester grunted. “Goddamn SOB.” His hands formed a circle in the air. “Gonna get my hands around his little neck and squeeze it until his eyes pop out.”
Looking at Forester’s giant mitts, Celina found the energy to smile. He’d never get his hands on Emilio, but the image made her feel better. “Save me a seat so I can watch.”
He nodded. “Damn straight. If you don’t kill this piece of shit, I will.”
We’re bonding over killing a man. Weirdville, here we come. She held out her hand to him and felt rewarded when he grasped it across the seat between them. “Deal,” she said, and they shook.
“So, how we gonna do this?”
Celina released his hand. “I have a plan, sir. I’ve already initiated it.”
He froze, gave her an exasperated huff. “Just don’t leave your gun in the car this time, okay?”
Celina laughed softly and gave him the only answer she could. “Yes, sir.”
The house was small by the neighborhood’s standards, but contemporary by Des Moines, Iowa’s, standards. The woman that opened the front door for Celina and Forester was older than Celina by a few years, taller than her by a few inches, and could give Jillian Michaels a run for her money, even though her bulky, powder blue sweats tried to hide it. She had her hair in a ponytail and a gun hidden in the waistband of her sweatpants.
Ex-Secret Service. Had to be.
She smiled and welcomed Celina in like they were old friends. Celina wondered if she’d been told what happened to the last female agent guarding her.
Forester introduced her as Mary—no last name—a specialist the FBI hired on occasion for her services. They discussed Celina’s case briefly and then Mary gave her a tour of the house. As they stepped into the bedroom Celina would be using until Cooper arrived, Mary gave her the house rules like a camp counselor. No opening windows. No going outside without permission and an escort. No smoking. Celina dropped her overnight bag on the floor, tested the mattress, and agreed.
Once the door closed behind Mary, Celina flopped over on her stomach and stared at the stitches in the Amish quilt draping the bed. They were meticulous, perfect in proportion, flowing one into the next with a precision she admired.
Tracing a line of them with her finger, she thought of the coming days and what would happen, but it was too exhausting to consider all the possible scenarios in her already drained state. She found instead a memory floating up of her brother Luke.
He’d put a lizard in her bed when they were kids. Living in Miami in a little white house four blocks from the Kmart store, they often found green anoles in their bathroom, on palm trees outside, and even in their pantry. That night, a light ocean breeze and a ceiling fan cooled Celina’s room. It was late, and she was tired from a day spent selling her mother’s flowers at the street corner. She’d been upset because one of the neighborhood bullies had taken her leftover gladiolas and stomped them into spots on the sidewalk.
She’d walked all the way back home without crying, sat through dinner with her parents and her brothers without telling anyone what had happened. But as she’d buried her face deep into the pillows on her bed later that night, she let the tears flow. Before her crying jag was over, she felt something cool and sticky crawl across her back. It wasn’t the first time one of her four older brothers had stuck something alive in her bed, but that night, a dragon unfurled his tail in her stomach and breathed heat into her until all she felt was red-hot anger.
Luke, a year older, saw the look on her face when she entered the living room and started to run. She tackled him amidst her mother’s shouts before he made the back door, and they both went skidding into the sandy yard. Celina hit and kicked him before her father pulled her off, and even though she got as much as she gave, including a black eye, she felt better afterward. Vindicated.
Celina and her brother both learned an important lesson. Blood relation or complete stranger, bullies would not be tolerated in her corner of Miami.
As sleep teased at her, Celina closed her eyes and let her hand stay on the tiny marching threads. Let her mind stay in the little white house in Miami. Sleep was exactly what she needed, not just to forget the awful day, but to prepare for the coming ones.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun was already setting. Cooper glanced at his watch and took into account the time difference between California and Iowa. “Just in time for the six-o’clock news and a full-blown story at ten,” he said to Thomas, pulling into the driveway of the safe house. “By tomorrow morning, t
he major networks will have picked it up and it will go national. Everyone will know The New Face of the FBI is back in Carlsbad.”
“You’re taking Celina back to California and you want it on the news?” Thomas’s face showed utter confusion and dislike of Cooper’s plan. “Dupé’s going to shit monkeys.”
Cooper didn’t know who was more tired, him or Thomas. They were both strung out. Cooper had caught some zzz’s on Dupé’s Cessna—nice of him to share the FBI’s wealth since commercial flights were murder— but he was still aware of the lead weight hanging on him. Whether from sleep deprivation or the grim reality of Emilio’s plan, Cooper wasn’t sure.
“Celina’s idea, actually. Dupé’s okay with it since the media’s already been tipped off. Along with the story about her, the FBI’s putting out the national manhunt story on Emilio. He wanted publicity, he’s got it. We’re not running from this. The more publicity we generate about him, the more likely we are to catch him.”
The neighborhood was relatively quiet, but a few stay-at-homes and work-at-homes were filtering out to see what was going on. A couple local uniforms had barricaded the cul-du-sac with their cars. As Cooper scanned the area, he saw the first white van drive up with a satellite dish on its roof. According to Celina, there would be at least three more to follow. So far, her plan was working.
Thomas glanced up at the house’s second-story windows. “Forester’s going to kill you for exposing the safe house.”
Cooper watched another van arrive. The first reporters harassed the cops to let them in closer. “Lana’s called Dominic Quarters and informed him what’s going down. Once we get Celina in the car, Quarters, Forester, or whoever, will hold a press conference on the front steps and read the info Lana gave them. Everything else will fall into place. Dupé will deal with Forester if he’s gotta problem with it. Our job is Celina.”
The last words caused Thomas to turn to him, his tired eyes narrowing slightly. “When Forester kills you, am I in charge of taking Celina back?”
“Worst-case scenario—Forester kills me—then, yes, the responsibility falls to you. But come on, Forester kill me? Never happen.”
Thomas looked at him as if he thought Cooper’s confidence was misplaced. Cooper shrugged. “If he kills me, shoot him. In the balls. Twice.”
“You got it, boss.” Thomas’s fist came up and Cooper banged his own in agreement.
Cooper shut off the SUV and climbed out, watching as two more local news agencies pulled up short at the barricades. He tugged his hat down on his head and adjusted his sunglasses. Thomas came around the front of the car and Cooper motioned at his jacket. “Show time, Agent Hawkins. Get your badge out where the cameras can see it, but keep your head turned away from them.”
Thomas fished through various pockets and hung his DEA badge on his belt. “Forget Forester, Celina’s going to kill you for the way you left her yesterday.”
He’d be so glad to see her alive and unharmed, he’d probably make a fool out of himself and throw his arms around her. He’d been an idiot to doubt her, to leave her on her own. “She’s a professional. She’ll save it until we get her back to California.” I hope.
They took the sidewalk to the front door, treading carefully over patches of ice that hadn’t been cleared. Thomas rubbed his hands together, blew on them. “I’ll lay odds she gets in at least one good blow before you get her out the door.”
Cooper considered this as he took the front steps. “You’re on.”
He raised his hand to use the doorknocker, prepared for the blow Thomas was sure he was going to take and found himself face to face with Eugene Forester. “What the hell are you doing, Harris?”
Celina sat at the dining room table, halfway through a plate full of scrambled eggs and toast, and watched as Chief Forester blocked Cooper’s entry. She listened to Cooper’s voice, smooth and low but demanding, and felt her pulse quicken.
I’m safe now.
So glad to hear his voice, to know he was there, she wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him.
That wouldn’t do, of course. But what was the right thing to do? Pretend she wasn’t happy to see him? Act like their night together was already forgotten? Give him the cold shoulder? Setting down her fork, she pushed back the plate and rose to get her bags from the bedroom. She had more important things to worry about than how to greet him.
Cooper and Thomas pushed inside just as she was going down the hallway. “Hi, Celina,” Thomas greeted her.
“Hey,” she replied, her gaze on Cooper. He was hours past needing a shave, the stubble on his face giving him a slightly sinister look. Combined with his mirrored sunglasses and the frown on his face, his appearance was the Terminator Revisited.
Celina tried to tap down the relief at seeing him. Tried to call up her professional, unemotional FBI face. “Thanks for coming to escort me back.”
Lame. So lame.
Cooper gave her a tight nod. “Get your things.” No hello. No, I’m sorry about Ronni and the others. “We need to get moving.”
Business as usual. Okay, she could do that.
“Somebody going to tell me what exactly’s going on here?” Forester said, standing between Cooper and Celina.
“Part of my plan.” Celina turned away, repeating in her head: Stay professional. She left them to get her bag and camera from the bedroom.
When she came back, Forester was on his cell phone yelling at someone—sounded like Dominic Quarters—and waving a piece of paper in the air. Mary was on hers speaking in undertones. Cooper and Thomas stood sentry by the door, hands centered in front of them, quietly waiting for her.
Thomas took her bags. Cooper handed over her coat. “Media’s outside. Be sure they get a clear shot of your face.”
Celina drew in a breath, braced herself. “I want to give the announcement about the manhunt.”
“That’s Forester’s job. We want Emilio to see you, but I’m not letting you stand there in front of God and country and give Emilio a clear target.”
Celina looked up into Cooper’s eyes and the mirrored sunglasses showed her nothing but her own image. Tired and anxious. “You know he won’t do it that way. He wants his revenge to be slow and painful. He’s a psychological bully and he won’t use a gun on me. Too easy. Too quick.”
A nerve in Cooper’s jaw jumped. He took her elbow but didn’t say anything as he steered her toward the entrance.
“Don’t you walk out of here,” Forester yelled from the living room, cell phone stilled glued to his ear.
“Go.” Cooper guided Celina through the door. As they hit the bottom step and started toward the driveway, they were met with a barrage of questions and camera flashes—the reporters had broken through the cop barrier and were flowing toward them en masse. Forester, two steps behind Cooper, drew a sharp breath as he saw the crowd advancing like a wave. “You SOB,” he said to Cooper’s back.
But Cooper wasn’t listening. He moved Celina from the steps to the driveway, shoving her into the back of a black Durango, the same SUV he’d driven before. Thomas threw himself into the backseat next to Celina as Cooper started the SUV’s engine. As the reporters close the distance around the lawn, they continued to yell questions at them.
Cooper shifted the vehicle into gear and Celina braced. Just as he stepped on the gas, the passenger door flew open and Forester jumped in. He was breathing hard, but Celina wasn’t sure if it was from trying to catch up with them or from anger.
“Director Dupé will explain everything,” Cooper told him. “Now please get out and make the manhunt announcement as planned.”
Celina was proud of his sincere, respectful tone. He had to be as exhausted as she was and Forester’s constant goading and yelling was enough to make anyone lose their cool. But not Cooper.
“The hell I’ll get out.” Forester faced Celina in the back seat. “She’s my agent and I am now her personal bodyguard. Where she goes, I go.”
Reporters pressed around the Durango.
“She’s going to L.A.” Cooper said, gripping the steering wheel tight, Celina knew, so he didn’t do something stupid, like shove Forester out on his butt. “And I’m her new bodyguard.”
Forester motioned at the street. “Then let’s go to L.A. I’ve never been there. Heard it’s full of assholes like you.”
Someone banged a fist on the SUV’s backend. Another leaned across the windshield with a microphone. Clamping his jaw, Cooper glanced at Celina in the rearview mirror.
She shrugged. Forester was nothing less than a bulldog. If she’d learned anything in the past six months, it was the pointlessness of fighting with him once he sunk his teeth into something.
Cooper took a deep breath, and shoved his foot down on the gas pedal. Everyone’s head inside snapped back and the crowd jumped out of the way. He maneuvered around an on-looker. “Did you give them your face?” he said to Celina.
As they cleared the entrance to the neighborhood, she met his eyes in the mirror. “Did my best Vogue impression in the whole micro-second you let me woo the cameras.”
“Score.” Thomas snickered. “You owe me.”
Celina lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“I don’t owe you squat.” Cooper took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “You said before I got her out the door.”
“I don’t even want to know what you two bet on.” She slid down in the seat. “The first part of the trap is set. Now we see if Emilio takes the bait.”
Forester switched his gaze back and forth between Cooper and Celina. “You really think Londano is watching this charade?”
They both answered in unison. “Yes.”
Chapter Fourteen
The man watched the black Durango drive out of the gated community property before shifting his eyes to a male FBI agent on the front steps reading from a piece of paper. As the Fed started another sentence, the man scanned the crowd gathering around the speaker, closed his cell phone and walked around to the back of the house.