by Rachel Grant
Curt remained planted in front of the vehicle until she reached his side. “Thanks,” she murmured.
He gripped her arms, his heart hammering at the knowledge she’d almost been taken from him. “You okay?”
“My thigh stings like a bitch, and these idiots seem to think Evan’s hunting us was nothing more than a lover’s spat. I’m pissed, in pain, and exhausted, but okay.”
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Do you have the money envelope?”
She nodded, the motion of her head bumping his chin. Her soft hair tickled his nose as he breathed in her scent. He wanted to hold her against him and bury his face in her neck, but the FBI agent watching through the windshield would cause problems if he did.
Anxiety twisted his gut. He couldn’t believe it had come to this and was terrified of what would happen to her. But he didn’t have a choice. He slipped the prepaid cell phone and bullet magazine into her pocket and whispered, “When you get to the hospital, run. I can’t protect you anymore.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“UNLESS MS. GARRETT is under arrest, you don’t have the right to ride in the ambulance.” The paramedic stood in the open ambulance doorway with her hands planted on her hips, blocking Mara’s view of the FBI agent standing outside the vehicle trying to finagle his way in.
Inside, Mara leaned back on the gurney, relieved the paramedic hadn’t budged.
The agent tried a new tactic. “Ms. Garrett claims she needs protection. I’m offering that.”
The medic glanced over her shoulder at Mara. The woman was young, early twenties, but she carried herself with an air of confidence Mara found comforting.
Evan was dead, Raptor was still after her, and she was on her own.
“Do you want protection, Ms. Garrett?” the woman asked.
She gripped the gurney, trying to still shaking fingers. “Not from him.”
“There’s your answer,” the medic said.
“What hospital are you—”
The door slammed closed on the question, and the medic smiled at her. “He was kind of a dick. I don’t blame you.”
“He wants to take me to DC. I don’t want to go to DC.”
“That’s kidnapping.” To the driver she said, “Let’s go.” The woman sat on a bench seat beside her as the ambulance started to move. “What hospital do you want to go to?”
“Depends. Is the agent following us?”
The woman stood and gazed out the rear window. “He’s talking with the US attorney. Damn, he’s even better looking in person.”
Mara smiled as the knot in her belly loosened a bit. “I take it he’s been on the news a lot.”
“You both have. The press is only capable of covering one story at a time, and the fact that you disappeared after your jet blew up on Oahu means this week’s story is you.” With a grin, she said to the driver, “Do you think we should tell Brian Williams or Wolf Blitzer our story of taking the notorious Mara Garrett to the hospital?”
“I’ve always had a thing for Elizabeth Vargas,” the man at the wheel answered.
The woman winked at Mara. “Don’t worry. We’re kidding. So which hospital?”
The knot returned with new intensity. She didn’t know the paramedic or driver, and what she was about to say would make her sound paranoid, but she had no choice if she wanted to live. “The man who died at the truck stop wasn’t the only person hunting me. He worked for Raptor—do you know who they are?”
The woman nodded.
“Raptor operatives are probably monitoring your radio. They’ll be waiting for me at whatever hospital you broadcast as our destination. I don’t care where you take me, so long as you don’t tell the world.”
“Why didn’t you want the fed to ride with us if you really need protection?”
“With Evan dead, he believes I’m out of danger. He wants to drag me back to DC—exactly where Raptor expects me to go—without providing protection.”
The medic cocked her head. “Does the FBI have the right to drag you to DC?”
Mara took hope from the fact she hadn’t declared her a nutjob—yet. “There was a subpoena for me to testify, but Curt Dominick won’t have it enforced.”
“He told you that?”
At this moment, Curt stood in the center of a ring of sharks. She couldn’t pour blood in the water by repeating his final instructions to a stranger. “He knows how much danger I’m in.”
The woman was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said to the driver, “I don’t believe in taking chances. Radio we’re going to Anthem.”
After the driver finished that task, he said, “Where are we going, Kaitlin?”
Kaitlin pierced Mara with a stare. “You’re legit? This shit is real, mercenaries stalking you?”
“I know it sounds nuts. But there’s no way Evan Beck could have stalked me for almost five thousand miles without technical support from Raptor. He caught up with us at the truck stop after brief cell phone contact nine hours before. The problem is, he’s not that good.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Run. Hide.”
“How will you run?”
“I don’t know. I need a vehicle.”
“Any chance you know how to ride a motorcycle?” the driver asked.
Kaitlin looked over Mara’s shoulder into the cab of the vehicle. “You thinking what I’m thinking, Gary?”
“Yes,” the man said.
A flicker of hope ignited in Mara’s acid-filled belly. “Yes, I know how to ride a motorcycle.”
“Call Tyson,” Gary said.
“Who is Tyson?” Mara asked.
“My boyfriend. He’s a motorcycle mechanic. He’s got a project bike he’s been trying to sell. If you take it, you’ll be doing me a favor. I want it out of the garage.” She pulled out her phone.
“It’s nearly three in the morning. You can’t call him now.”
Kaitlin shrugged. “It’s either wake him or wait until my shift is done at eight. But if we get an emergency I have to respond to, then it could be much later.”
The sooner she left the area, the safer she’d be, so she didn’t protest further as Kaitlin called her boyfriend. The fact that these strangers were willing to help her had her fighting back tears.
After Kaitlin hung up she said, “Tyson says it’s yours for fifteen hundred. But if you don’t have money, you can owe him. It’s not like we don’t know who you are.” She rolled her eyes. “And he’ll just spend the money on a new project bike anyway.”
“I’ve got cash.”
Kaitlin made a face. “You sure? ’Cause really, you can owe him.”
“Sorry. But I’ll feel better if I pay him now.” Who knew how long she’d be in hiding? It could be months before she could pay him back.
“Fine. We’ll take you to my house. Tyson’s waiting for you. Then we’ll return to our headquarters and put word out on the radio you jumped out at a stoplight. If no calls come in, we can give you about a thirty-minute head start.”
“Thank you.” Mara gripped the woman’s hand. “Will you get in trouble?”
“I’m an EMT for a private ambulance service. I get paid ten dollars an hour. I don’t give a shit if I get in trouble, and neither does Gary. Do you, Gary?”
“Semper fi,” Gary said.
“You’re a marine?” Mara knew better than to ask if he was a former marine, even though the man had obviously left the service.
“In service for over twenty years,” the man said. “I’ve been following your story. We all have. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
“And Tyson was in the army,” Kaitlin added. “He served in Afghanistan.”
This explained why they were willing to help her, and she was humbled by their unquestioning support. She’d been isolated for so long, she’d forgotten what her work meant to military personnel. She’d spent so much time blaming herself for what happened in North Korea, she’d assumed her entire country blamed her too. An
d Curt, the only person she’d spent any time with since her captivity, he’d been suspicious of her at first, confirming her assumption.
She didn’t blame him for that. It was an impossible situation, and he was just being…Curt.
Now she remembered the line of marines who had saluted her in Kaneohe, and a sob rose in her chest. “Thank you.”
“Do you know who blew up the Marine Corps runway in Hawai’i?” Gary asked.
“I think it was the dead guy at the truck stop.”
“Good. Raptor is run by a shit-hot civilian prick who should be fragged.”
Her sob became a laugh. She and Curt had avoided the military, because of Raptor, but now she realized they’d also been avoiding the very people who were her best allies. “Hell yes,” she answered.
“You see anyone in the rearview?” Kaitlin asked Gary.
“No one looks like they’re following.”
“Twist around a bit. We need to be certain before we go to my place.”
They drove around for twenty minutes, then finally approached Kaitlin’s street. During the drive, the woman cleaned and bandaged the cut on Mara’s thigh.
They stopped a block from Kaitlin’s, and Mara jumped out the back followed by the young EMT.
A man stepped from behind a high fence, and Kaitlin greeted him with an exuberant kiss. Then she introduced Mara to her boyfriend. “Give her a helmet too, Ty.” To Mara, she said, “Promise you’ll wear it, or the deal is off.”
Mara smiled. The young woman was an EMT through and through. “It’ll be a good disguise.”
Satisfied, Kaitlin jumped back into the ambulance, and she and Gary departed.
Wind stirred tree branches, which creaked and whistled in the inky darkness, sending adrenaline surging through her. Mara followed Tyson down the block to a small house in the middle of the quiet street. She winced at the idea of revving a motorcycle in the middle of the night and was relieved to see the bike was an old BMW, not a loud Harley.
Tyson gave her a quick rundown on the condition of the bike. He yawned several times, and she had a feeling he’d give her a detailed description of all the work he’d done, if he weren’t eager to go back to bed. She paid him and less than ten minutes after arriving was on the bike, heading north.
Sporting bandages on one side and smallpox scars on the other, she was completely on her own for the first time since she emerged from the woods to find herself on the edge of the DMZ. Another minefield was now before her, and with Evan dead, she had no idea what her enemy looked like. But for the first time since this nightmare started, she knew what she needed to do. Evan had given her direction with his last words: “Jeannie is alive.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
CURT SPENT HOURS with the FBI, first delaying them from following Mara to the hospital, then on a false hunt for Mara, all to buy time for her escape.
The two EMTs who’d taken her to the hospital were interviewed, and Curt believed with a prosecutor’s instinct they’d done more than watch Mara climb out of the ambulance at a stoplight, but he gave no hint of this suspicion to the frustrated FBI agents.
Dawn lit the sky as one of the agents begrudgingly gave Curt a lift to a nearby airfield. There he caught a commuter flight and a short while later was forced to wade through a throng of reporters at National Airport. The only other option had been to fly through Joint Base Andrews, but he wouldn’t go through another military base until he was certain Raptor no longer tailed him.
He forded the gauntlet of vultures, his only weapon the words, “No comment,” which he wielded over and over on his way to a waiting limousine.
Bixby, the president’s chief of staff who’d set him on this crazy journey five—or was it six?—days before, waited inside the vehicle. “The president can’t meet with you.”
Frustration stirred with the confirmation the president was distancing himself from Curt, but he was too exhausted to care. “You mean won’t.”
“That too.”
“Fine. Then I’ll head home and shower before going to the courthouse.”
“That’ll have to wait. We’re going to the State Department. The secretary is waiting for a debriefing.”
“Good. I need to talk to him.”
Bixby sighed and said, “This will blow over, Curt.”
He nodded and closed his eyes as he leaned against the plush seat. He’d known Bixby only a few years but liked the man. “It looks to me like the Justice Department needs to clean house.”
“You’re still in the running for the job.” The man paused. “The president wants to appoint you, but you’ve got to show you can survive the confirmation process. You’ve got to win this case. A win will restore your credibility.”
“Restore? I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“It’s worse. A witness at the truck stop says he saw you kiss Garrett before she went inside. The morning talk shows are going nuts.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t tell the truth. He shrugged. “She’s not testifying. The morning talk shows can go to hell.”
“Win the case, Curt.”
“I intend to.” Curt paused and stared at Bixby. At this point, the more people who knew, the safer Mara would be. He hit the button to close the divider so the driver couldn’t eavesdrop. “There’s something you need to tell the president.”
THE SECRETARY OF state met with Curt in a conference room. Curt quickly told the man about Mara’s encounter with the smallpox bombs. The man listened quietly, then said, “I’ll ask the president to convene an informal cabinet meeting and will need you to present evidence at the meeting. Can you prove Ms. Garrett found the bombs?”
“Not at present, sir, but I’m seeking search warrants for all of Raptor’s facilities.”
“Keep me posted on your progress. And Dominick, it’s very important the press doesn’t get wind of this. Tension between the US and North Korea is bad enough as it is. Allegations of biological weapons testing on the Korean peninsula in the fifties could lead to war today. And with North Korea, we’re talking nuclear war. Any statements regarding US testing and use of biological weapons would threaten national security and leave you open to prosecution under 18 USC Section 798: Disclosure of Classified Information.”
Curt was used to citing chapter and verse of the US Code. He was unaccustomed, however, to having the code cited to him. “I never grant interviews and have been very careful with this information for that very reason.”
“Also, with regard to Ms. Garrett, if she reveals to anyone she believes she found a smallpox bomb—”
“She doesn’t believe it; she knows it. But rest assured she won’t tell anyone.”
“Good.” The man stood and walked Curt to the door. “Thank you for your service in retrieving Ms. Garrett.”
Curt turned to the door, one item checked off on his long to-do list. He needed to get home and shower before heading to court, and he was anxious to call the prepaid cell phone and check on Mara. He needed to know she was okay.
“Dominick,” the man said with a note of uneasiness. “One more thing. I’m hearing whispers… There is concern you’ve fixated on Raptor to the point of obsession, and these smallpox allegations will only exacerbate that.”
There it was. Said aloud. Frankly, hearing the words was a relief. It was better than being quietly discredited until he woke up one morning without a career, without support, without a future. “Evan Beck wasn’t acting alone.”
“Can you prove that?”
“No. But someone flew Evan to the mainland. Someone provided him with weapons and the technology to track us.” He swallowed his anger. The man had merely repeated allegations most people would only whisper behind his back.
But Curt hadn’t gotten where he was by backing down at the first sign of trouble, and silence now would only aid Raptor. Bad enough he’d given Raptor a victory when he cut Mara loose. He wouldn’t fail on his own turf. “Mr. Secretary, I expect a full investigati
on into Raptor’s actions. If it isn’t done, I will use the full power of my office to push for congressional hearings on the matter.”
The secretary grimaced. “Keep a lid on the smallpox allegation, and rest assured Raptor will be investigated by Homeland Security.”
“I expect a full report.” He turned and left, knowing in his gut sending Mara away had been the only safe choice.
She was everyone’s pawn, but no one, not even Curt, had been willing to protect her flank.
He paused on his way out of the building, suddenly chilled by the realization that in telling Mara to run he’d distanced himself from her. He bore bruises and aches from the struggle with Evan, but pain of a different sort lanced through him. After all his blustering about his own importance, Mara probably wondered why he hadn’t pushed for protective custody. She probably believed he’d chosen his career over her life.
And deep down, he feared that was exactly what he’d done.
HE ARRIVED AT the courthouse just minutes before the trial was supposed to adjourn for the weekend break. A feeling of peace settled over him as he entered his domain. The courtroom was packed, and hundreds of heads turned when he entered.
Judge Hawthorne, a tiny woman—as small as Mara—always managed to look imposing from the raised bench. She glanced at him over the top of her rimless glasses and smiled, showing the stained front tooth that had appeared in more than one op-ed caricature.
A buzz erupted in the room as Curt made his way down the center aisle, and Hawthorne’s gavel met sound block with impassive effort. She hated resorting to the gavel to restore order and only did it with vigor when her ire was raised. “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Dominick.”