by Terri Reed
Viv’s insides clenched. Such a waste. She hated to think what her and Mikey’s bedrooms looked like. Those rooms had been their sanctuaries.
“Do you think they found what they were looking for?” Joe asked.
“I doubt it.” Viv moved toward the dining room. The intricately carved formal dining set was intact, but the cushions of the chairs had slashes in their seats. Mindless destruction.
She opened the door to a wardrobe. The clothes that had once hung from the rod were lumped on the floor, but thankfully it didn’t look like they’d found the rear hidden opening that led to the wall. She felt along the rear wall for the mechanism that would open the back of the wardrobe to reveal the hidden doorway and stairs leading downward.
“Clever,” Anthony said.
“This house was built in the twenties during prohibition. At one time there was an illegal distillery down there. Then during the cold war it was refitted to be a fallout shelter. When we bought the house we remodeled and fitted it with a wine rack.”
“Cool,” Joe said.
“Who knew about this room?” Anthony shined his light down the inky staircase.
Knowing he was thinking about the Wanderer Alert, she said, “Only the contractor, his men and us. We bought this house eight years ago. I don’t believe Steven ever brought anyone down here. I sure didn’t. Not even the housekeeper.”
Anthony found the light switch on the wall inside the opening. “Let me go first.”
“Watch your step,” she cautioned as she allowed him to enter the passageway. “You’ll have to duck. The ceiling’s not very high.”
They descended the stairs. A bare bulb burned overhead, giving light to the square room. Full, wooden wine racks lined one wall. In the corner was a cold-storage unit filled with champagne and white wine.
“Steven was a wine connoisseur,” Viv said, feeling embarrassed by the glut of his collection. She hadn’t been down here in years and hadn’t realized how much he’d accumulated.
“The safe,” Anthony said.
She stepped toward a covered table. “Over here.”
Joe helped her remove the many wine goblets sitting on top. She smiled her thanks and got her first real look at him. He did resemble his brother, only Joe’s dark hair was longer and more unruly. He had the same strong jaw. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown than Anthony’s. He was also armed. A rifle hung over his back and a handgun was stuck in the waistband of his black cargo pants. She didn’t want to know what weighted down the pockets.
The show of force unnerved her.
Anthony helped her slide the table aside. She drew back the round area rug to reveal a safe set into the concrete flooring.
“Tell me you can open this,” Anthony said, his voice sliding over her as she straightened.
She hadn’t realized he’d moved so close. His nearness kindled a warmth deep inside. She wanted to turn into his broad chest and bury her head, pretend none of this was happening. She didn’t.
No amount of wishing would release her from this nightmare. Only the information held inside the safe offered freedom. Not able to find her voice, she nodded.
Reluctantly, she stepped away, pulled off her bag and knelt before the safe. Dredging up the combination from the recesses of her memory, she twisted the dial. The contractor had given her the numbers by mistake. He hadn’t known Steven had wanted to keep the safe a secret. But since he wasn’t at home that day, she’d been the one to oversee the installation.
Within a moment, she heard the distinct click as the lock tumbled into place. She turned the metal handle and swung the safe’s door open.
Anthony knelt beside her, crowding her space, making her acutely aware of him. He aimed the beam of the flashlight on the contents of the safe’s two shelves. Several jewelry boxes lay on the top shelf. All the glittery pieces Steven had demanded she wear during public appearances. A diamond-studded tiara from her last pageant win twinkled in the light. She’d wondered where they were, not that she missed them. In fact, seeing the items from her pageant days made her glad she was past that part of her life.
Ignoring the gaudy display, her gaze fell on the stack of file folders. Amid the insurance information, house and tax papers was a file folder labeled Campaign.
She opened the file on her lap so Anthony and Joe could see it. Her heart began to hammer against her ribs. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Joe, take a look,” Anthony said.
Joe leaned over their shoulders and whistled between his teeth. “What you have here is a ledger of campaign donations.”
He pointed to the first column that listed initials next to dollar amounts and then to a second column showing dates and the same dollar amount. “And here is where the donation is reimbursed. Question is, who’s doing the reimbursing and who do all the initials belong to?”
Viv’s mind reeled. She had no doubt who was doing the reimbursing. One look at the date and the amount and memories shifted, falling into place. She’d noticed several strange withdrawals the one time she’d dared to peek at their bank statement. When she’d questioned Steven, he’d grown angry and demanded she leave the finances to him. He’d threatened to cut her monthly stipend otherwise.
Obviously, Steven had been involved in a straw donor scam. With the news filled lately with the courts revisiting the case against an ex-presidential candidate for this very thing, Viv was familiar with how the scam worked—the illegal practice of using someone else’s money to make political contributions in their name and then reimbursing them.
So in essence Steven was funding his own presidential campaign, yet he’d boasted of large backing from both private and corporate funding making it seem that he had a large constituency.
A faint noise raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She grabbed Anthony’s arm. “Someone’s in the house.”
He flipped off the flashlight and searched her face. “You sure?”
“Yes.” She’d lived in this house long enough to know every sound, every creak and shift. What she’d heard was someone walking across the dining room. She pointed upward. “The boards squeak.”
Joe turned out his flashlight and unscrewed the overhead lightbulb. They hadn’t closed the wardrobe door or the door to the staircase behind them. The beam of a flashlight bounced off the wall, giving credence to her words.
Adrenaline jolted Viv to her feet. “This way,” she whispered and tugged at Anthony’s arm.
“Joe,” Anthony called softly.
“Right behind you,” he replied.
Viv maneuvered to the wine rack. Feeling along the edge, she found the lip where the rack separated from the wall. “Help me pull this back,” she whispered frantically.
In the dark, Anthony’s hand slid down her arm to cover her hands. Behind them the flashlights moved down the stairs, bringing danger with the light.
Working together, they tugged on the rack. With a groan of protest the big piece of wood slid away from the wall. Damp air washed over her but didn’t cool her panic. The sound of a bottle falling and breaking on the stone floor shattered through the darkness.
Angry shouts of men filled Viv’s ears as she slipped through the opening in the wall behind the wine rack. The file folder threatened to slide out of her sweating hand. Behind her, Anthony and Joe pulled the wine rack closed; the sound of wood scraping on concrete echoed off the tunnel walls.
“This way.” She ran down the short earthen tunnel supported by thick wooden beam to a metal door. Anthony and Joe were quick on her heels.
Shoving the file into Anthony’s hands, she felt along the top of the door until her hand closed over the skeleton key.
At the other end of the tunnel, the wine rack groaned a protest as their pursuers found their escape route. Lights glinted off the metal door as whoever was behind them tugged the heavy rack open and entered the tunnel. The sharp rap of gunfire exploded around Viv. A man screamed, the sound absorbed by the dirt walls of the tunnel.
Ea
rs ringing, Viv glanced over her shoulder to assure herself Anthony and his brother weren’t the one’s who’d been hit. They were unharmed and using their bodies as a shield for her. With a renewed sense of urgency, she concentrated on getting the key in the lock. A quick twist and a push sent the metal door swinging wide. A hard body pushed her through the opening and up the short set of steps to the outside patio behind the detached garage.
“This way,” Anthony yelled as he propelled her toward the garage’s back door.
The house’s motion-sensitive outdoor floodlights came on. Viv blinked at the sudden glare.
“Go, go,” Joe shouted from behind them. “I’ve got your six.”
More shots were fired. A bullet hit the brick patio. Shards stung Viv’s legs through her jeans as she raced with Anthony. At the back door of the garage, Anthony used his elbow to break the window and reached through the opening to unlock the door. They rushed inside. Joe came in after them and hunkered down by the door. He stuck his rifle out the broken window and returned fire.
So much for keeping the neighbors unaware they were here.
“Do you have the keys to either of these cars?” Anthony asked as he pulled her down behind Steven’s sports coupe. Next to it sat her luxury sedan.
“Find us a way out, bro,” Joe yelled.
“Working on it,” Anthony shot back.
“My keys are in my bag,” Viv said with a sinking feeling. “Which is back in the wine cellar.”
“Great. I led us into a deathtrap.”
NINE
Self-disgust pumped through Anthony’s veins. The humid July air trapped within the confines of the closed-up garage mingled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, and fear clogged his lungs. Forcing in a breath, he fought frustration and guilt for having put Viv in this situation.
The barrage of gunfire ceased. The sudden eerie silence was somehow more frightening than the chaos of noise and bullets flying. The fear in Vivian’s eyes helped him keep his own alarm in check. She needed him to be brave. Pushing aside his doubts and fears of failing her, he touched her cheek, the skin soft beneath the rough pads of his fingertips. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m praying so.”
“Still clinging, huh?”
“With everything I have.”
“Good for you.” He wasn’t sure he had enough faith to believe God would help them, but apparently she did.
“Stay put and stay down,” he cautioned.
Just because there were no bullets flying now didn’t mean a sharpshooter wasn’t at the ready to take a well-aimed shot. He started to move away, then hesitated. They could use every bit of help possible. “And keep praying.”
She nodded and ducked lower.
In a crouch, he moved to stack up on the right side of the door opposite his brother. He peered out at the empty yard. “Where are they?”
“Can’t tell.” The harsh lines of concentration on Joe’s face were barely discernable in the glow coming from the house’s outside floodlights. “They fanned out. We’re surrounded. Time to make tracks.”
Knowing his brother’s aptitude with engines, Anthony gestured with his head toward the two expensive cars parked in the garage. “Can you get one of those babies started?”
Shoving the M16 A1 against Anthony’s chest, Joe scoffed. “Like there’s any doubt?”
“Go for it, bro.” Anthony holstered his SIG and gripped the assault rifle. The weight of the machine in his hand ratcheted up his already heightened adrenaline. For a second he flashed back to his training days at Rowley Training Center located just outside of D.C. He’d thought the police academy had been grueling, but that had been a cakewalk compared to Rowley.
Too bad this wasn’t a training exercise.
Staring out at the shadows shifting in the yard, he analyzed the situation. They were trapped within the detached garage, surrounded by assassins out for blood. Whatever information was in that file was worth killing for.
They shouldn’t have stopped firing. They’d already shown they weren’t concerned with collateral damage. They had to be up to something. He glanced around, trying to put himself into the bad guy’s head.
In the distance a siren wailed, drawing closer. The acrid smell of accelerant-laced smoke curled under Anthony’s nostrils, alerting him seconds before the west wall of the garage burst into flames.
One question answered. They hoped to burn them out.
“Joe!” Anthony yelled. “Hurry!”
The engine in the big luxury sedan turned over. Joe sat in the driver’s seat and flashed the thumbs up sign. Anthony left his post by the door to urge Viv into the backseat. He jumped into the passenger seat.
“You know they’re right outside,” Joe said evenly.
“Yeah, I know,” Anthony replied grimly. To Viv he said, “Down on the floor.”
She scrambled off the seat and onto the floorboard. Her hands covered her head.
“To door or not to door?” Joe quipped. Peculiar shadows created by the flames engulfing the garage played across his face.
Not wanting to waste precious seconds waiting for the garage door to rumble open, Anthony said, “Gun it.”
Joe flashed a grin as if they were kids playing with Hot Wheels cars. He threw the transmission into Reverse. “Brace yourselves.”
He hit the gas. The car shot backward. The wooden garage door barely slowed the sedan’s acceleration out of the garage and down the driveway. Armed men dressed in black dove out of the way.
The ping of bullets hitting the metal exterior of the car echoed inside Anthony’s head. Viv screamed.
His fear meter shot up. He clamped his jaw tight and hung on.
The front windshield took a hit. A million spidery cracks splintered from a small hole. The bullet found a home in the backrest of the seat, inches from Anthony.
The old bullet wound in his shoulder ached with memory. He shuddered.
On the narrow residential street, Joe expertly spun the car 180 degrees, narrowly avoiding a parked car, and shifted into Drive. Tires squealed. The back end fishtailed as the car rocketed forward.
Relief wouldn’t come until they were far away from there. Anthony kicked the useless front windshield out with his foot. In one huge chunk, the glass slid off the hood and fell to the road. Anthony glanced in the side mirror. So far they weren’t being followed.
“We’ve got to ditch this ride ASAP, bro,” Joe said.
“I know. Head to the National Zoo.”
“The petting zoo isn’t there anymore, Tony,” Joe remarked drily.
“I saw a billboard as we drove into the city advertising an evening concert for tonight,” Anthony replied.
“All right, then. To the zoo.” Joe made a face. “Uh, you’ll have to give directions. The zoo isn’t a regular haunt of mine when I’m in town.”
“Viv?” Anthony looked over his shoulder to the back of the car.
Viv unwound and sat up. She still had the file folder clutched against her chest. Visibly shaken, she placed a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. The contact zinged through him, poking holes in his revved-up system.
“Up ahead, take a right on Cathedral and then a left on Connecticut Avenue,” she said, her voice shaky. “The entrance isn’t far. What about the van?”
“Too risky. We’ll get another vehicle in the morning.”
Her worried gaze twisted his heart into knots. “We need to check on Mikey.”
The knot tightened. Anthony handed her his phone. She dialed and then waited. Her eyebrows drew together in an anxious frown. “Barb’s not answering.”
Exchanging a troubled glance with his brother, Anthony said, “We’ll take the metro and go retrieve him.”
Tears welled in Viv’s pretty eyes. Her bleak expression tore at Anthony’s heart. He wasn’t sure risking her life was worth the evidence in her hands. Her quick thinking and bravery had gotten them out of a sticky situation that could have easily been the end of all of them. He respected and admired her mor
e with each passing moment.
Joe motioned to the tactical rifle clutched in Anthony’s hands. He said, “Tear that bad boy down, will ya? Shouldn’t be seen out in public.”
“Right.” Anthony made quick work of dissembling the rifle and stuffed the pieces into Joe’s to-go bag.
When they reached the zoo parking lot, Joe slid the sedan into a space between two SUV’s.
“Let’s move,” Anthony said.
They quickly jogged to the metro station entrance, paid the machine for fare tickets and caught the red line to Gallery Place-Chinatown station. There they switched to the green line before departing the subway system at the Columbia Heights station. Anthony kept a hand at the small of Viv’s back as they briskly walked the few blocks to Barb’s apartment building. He could tell she wanted to run, but the less attention they drew to themselves the better.
The second they entered the foyer, dread slithered up Anthony’s spine. “The doorman’s not at his post.”
“Maybe he’s just in the restroom,” Viv offered with desperate hope lacing her words.
Exchanging a grim look with Joe, Anthony withdrew his weapon. Viv’s eyes widened with panic. He wanted to reassure her that everything was fine. He wanted to believe the doorman had stepped away from his desk and would return momentarily. But his gut said something was wrong.
“Stay behind me,” Anthony instructed. “We’ll take the stairs. Easier to see an enemy coming and more escape routes.”
The stairwell was empty. They proceeded upward, Anthony on point, Viv in the middle and Joe protecting their flank. When they reached the seventh floor, Anthony slowly opened the door. Joe moved past him with a 9 mm Glock in a two-handed grip leading the way.
Viv clutched the back of Anthony’s shirt, her terror a palpable thing, fueling his own fear.
“Hall’s clear,” Joe said.
Anthony knew relief wouldn’t come until they had Mikey with them. Taking one of Viv’s hands, he led her out of the stairwell and down the hall to Barb’s door. His breath stalled for a fraction of a second.