by Ali Vali
“Stay for dinner,” she offered.
“I think I’ll change my hotel to the Hilton, so I’ll take a rain check.”
Once Don departed, her dad and Peter left her to run a few searches for Natalie Naquin and Mitch. While the computer ran the program, Wiley stared at the wall and the arrows she’d drawn. The connections almost made a circle. The middle was empty, though, and until she could fill it in with who was pulling the strings, she wouldn’t find Maria’s missing money. That was one way of buying Aubrey and Tanith’s freedom. The other was finding and killing everyone involved.
“Wiley, are you sure you want to get involved in all this?” Aubrey came back and stood on the other side of Wiley’s desk.
“It was bastards like this that stole my future with you, so don’t ask me to stop. I may not get all that back, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you and Tanith live with a target on your back.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s not fair to put you in danger for something Maria did.”
“Were you lying about how you feel and what you want?”
“No,” Aubrey said, her eyes glassy.
“For a very long time I’ve gone into places with orders to eliminate whatever threat my superiors deemed dangerous to national security.”
Aubrey moved closer, sitting on the edge of the desk so at least their knees touched. “I was always proud of your service. Not many people reach your level, and even fewer know a woman was behind the scope. All they know is the rules say the army would never put you in any combat situation.”
“If that’s another way of saying I’m one of the best killers out there, you’re right.” Wiley’s eyes went to Aubrey’s hand and her long, elegant fingers.
“When you say it like that, it makes me sound like I’m ashamed of you.” Aubrey lifted her hand and caressed her cheek. “That has never and will never be true.”
“Thanks, and I was trying to make a point. I served with as much honor as our dads, and it cost me so much. Now I want to use my skills to protect you and Tanith.” She laid her hand over Aubrey’s. “By doing that maybe I’ll be blessed this time around instead of cursed.”
“We can stay locked in here or run away, but I’m not letting you go. Bravery isn’t the price you have to pay, my love. Not again.”
“I’m not very good at running or hiding.” She kissed Aubrey’s palm. “Looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life isn’t something I want for Tanith either.”
Aubrey nodded and slowly moved into her lap. It’d take much more time before they regained the naturalness of their relationship. If Wiley didn’t want to get back to the point where they interacted with each other without the slight hesitation that hinted at the fear, now was the time to push Aubrey away.
She couldn’t, though. Having Aubrey this close dispelled every lie she’d tried to tell herself of how well she was doing alone. She not only needed Aubrey, she wanted her. Wanted her more than anything she’d ever accomplished or had. The years hadn’t dulled her love for Aubrey, and she was through hiding and running from it. When she kissed Aubrey, that’s what she tried to convey as she held her.
“You know what I want when this is done?” Aubrey said.
“What?” She threaded her fingers with Aubrey’s and enjoyed Aubrey’s perfume. In a way it was like she was nineteen again and life was full of possibilities that had nothing to do with killing.
“I want to drive out and see if that old tree is still standing so we can show it to Tanith.”
“Think it still has any magic left in it?”
“I look at your painting and say yes.”
Wiley pressed her fingers to the underside of Aubrey’s chin so she could see her eyes. “That piece is yours. Even if we’d never seen each other again, I’d made arrangements to have it delivered to you.” She kissed Aubrey when she didn’t say anything.
“Is it the sunrise or sunset?”
“It’s a painting for the beautiful girl who always greeted me at sunrise, whispering in my ear of all the wonders the day would hold for me. Those promises were what kept me from getting swept away in the darkness. You, and the memory of you, kept me sane.”
“I want that to be my lifetime job.”
*
“Have you decided?” the waitress asked, appearing bored and tired.
“A burger and a beer. Whatever you have on tap is good.”
Walter handed her the menu and rested his head on the back of the booth in the diner outside New Orleans. After his meeting with Carter in Mexico, he’d used an alias to get back into the States. Orvik had done him a favor by not taking him into custody right then. He wouldn’t be that lucky again.
It galled him that Wiley was off-limits to him. Carter had explained in his own circular way that he’d pushed too far and the military had pushed back when he’d tried to exploit their precious asset.
Wiley was beyond his reach, so he had to concentrate on something else to get himself out of this bind. Roth Pombo. In hindsight, he should’ve left Roth Pombo to his fate. Roth’s new home would eventually bury him as efficiently as a kill shot.
“What proof does the fucker have? It’s his word against mine as to what happened,” he muttered as he watched his waitress lumber over with his beer.
Yeah, he’d figure out something to not only fuck Orvik over, but Wiley as well. If the bitch had done the job and not whined so much about it, it’d still be business as usual.
“What?” he barked into his phone. “Just do what I told you and keep it simple.”
He laughed when he disconnected. Everyone was about to find out what he could do even without CIA backing.
“Fuckers.”
Chapter Nineteen
Wiley transferred the results of her searches to her phone before strapping on the double shoulder holster. In her jacket pocket was the leather case Don had given her as a gift, with its syringes and special bottle, and she repacked the rifle she’d used that afternoon. Anything else she’d need was in the Suburban.
Her search yielded two addresses for Natalie, and she intended to visit the one listed in the Garden District. The address and the satellite photo of the house didn’t compute to the salary of a bar manager. Well, what she considered a bar manager’s salary to be.
“You sure are heavily armed for someone who’s only doing recon,” Aubrey said as she entered the office. “Or did I misunderstand?”
“After seeing all the players and how they problem-solve, I don’t want to head out with only a slingshot.” She stood still as Aubrey ran her hands under her jacket along the leather of her holster.
“I don’t need to tell you to be careful, right? The thought of something happening to you makes me crazy.”
“Here.” She handed over a new cell phone. “I’m not planning to be out too late, but I’ll call if it goes much past one.”
“Do you buy these things by the case or something?”
“Actually Uncle Sam keeps me in phones.”
Aubrey pressed a few buttons, and Wiley’s phone buzzed in her pocket. “Just checking.”
“My number’s the only one in the contacts.”
“Do you trust your bosses not to tamper with these so they can track you?”
“They did, but hopefully they’re smart enough to know I’m going to tamper right back. Anything in there meant to gather intel on me is gone, and I shred them when I’m done.”
“Your mom and dad were on the money when they named you.”
“I’m only wily when someone else tries it first.” She kissed Aubrey’s hand, then her lips. “Try not to wait up.”
“You can’t have forgotten that much about me.”
“It was worth a shot,” she said as she zipped her jacket shut. For this job, she had dressed completely in black.
Wiley wasn’t that far from the house she was going to check out, but habit made her head in the opposite direction to flush out anyone trying to tail her. The heat had driven almost ever
yone inside, it seemed, since a few of the bars she passed were full.
After ten minutes of wandering she turned toward the Garden District. Natalie’s house was off St. Charles Avenue, where none of the dwellings were small and almost all of them had a high wrought-iron fence with a shrub liner planted in the yard for added privacy.
Wiley parked on the opposite side of St. Charles and walked a block over before crossing the wide avenue. That one-block detour made a world of difference since the real estate was mixed. Some smaller homes sat dwarfed by their neighbors, but here too the sidewalks had few people on them. As she neared the hundred block she needed, she found two houses with For Sale signs in the yard, and one of them was dark.
She slowed her pace and discreetly looked around to make sure no one saw her enter the yard. Luckily it was cloudy, without much moonlight, and as she walked along the small space between houses wearing her dark clothing, she didn’t raise any alarms.
“Where are you?” Don asked when she answered his call.
“Closing in on Natalie Naquin, hopefully.” The yard had no tall trees, and the house it butted up to was a two-story monstrosity. No way could she get a clear shot of the street from here. “Any luck at the hotel?”
“The bar’s still closed and empty, and I didn’t see any sign of the two guys you showed me.”
She gave him the location of her car and where she was as she watched someone standing in the window of the house across from her. The woman was on the phone, but she wasn’t facing the yard. The rest of the house appeared to be fairly dark, as if she was either alone or there weren’t many others there.
“Park and call me when you get here.”
Wiley walked forward slowly, studying the two-story house. The best vantage point for what she had in mind was high, and the back porch near where the owner was standing was her way up.
She secured the pack to her back and tried to be quiet as she climbed, using the iron-work support at the corner away from the window with the light on. When she was close enough to hear, she thought she heard an argument, and from the cursing, the woman was pissed. That was helpful since anger always distracted people. Even if she stood in the window she doubted the homeowner would’ve noticed.
The roof would be better, but it didn’t have enough footholds for her to get up without breaking through the woman’s rage, so she carefully walked along the wraparound porch. The beautiful outdoor space was common to some of the larger homes in New Orleans, but so were termites. If she stepped through a weak spot a broken leg would be a major inconvenience.
The large oak in the front and the one in the neighbor’s yard were huge, but also severely trimmed back—a common sight around the city after the storm. With only the major branches still left, she had a good view of not only Natalie’s house, but a block down from it in each direction.
She spotted fake cop four houses down from Natalie’s, sitting low behind the wheel of a new car as if not to be seen. Next to him was Mitch Surpass. Wiley adjusted her night-vision binoculars, not believing her luck.
“Don, I need you to drive down the street and park when I tell you to.”
“Found something?” he asked, breathing hard as if running back to his car.
“Two somethings, and I don’t want the healthy one to get away.” She put her rifle together, switching out the scope and screwing on the silencer.
“What’s wrong with the other guy?”
She saw Don’s headlights, glad he was driving slowly. “Turn into the driveway on your right and kill your lights, but not the engine.” She aimed toward fake cop’s car and got comfortable on her stomach. “To answer your question, the other guy’s going to need surgery on his right upper arm to repair the damage from the gunshot.”
With the windshield there was a chance the bullet wouldn’t stay true, but she’d taken enough of these shots to feel good that she wouldn’t kill him. The scare would maybe encourage a career change.
“Mitch is in the passenger seat, so if he runs I need you to make sure he’s available for a chat.”
“I’m ready.”
She took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. Her crosshairs fixed on the spot right above fake cop’s bicep. With the breeze she’d hit directly between his shoulder and bicep. Not a debilitating blow after months of physical therapy. Fake cop would live, but rainy or cold days would remind him of tonight.
She exhaled as she released the safety. Because fake cop was busy watching Natalie’s house, he was still and in quiet conversation with Mitch. In Wiley’s world that meant easy target, so she pulled the trigger.
The howl caused a slew of lights to flick on nearby, so Wiley crept to the corner, slung her rifle across her back, and threw the pack into the yard. It grew quiet again so she guessed fake cop had either passed out or Mitch had shoved something in his mouth.
She felt around with her foot, hoping that the same decorative iron work held up the front porch. Once she was back on the ground, she headed for the shadows and dismantled the gun.
“Have they moved?” she asked Don.
“They’re both in the car, but I only see Mitch’s head. He might be waiting for curious neighbors to go back to their televisions.”
“I’m taking a walk.” She reached for one of the flat black pistols meant for night operations. They were black holes for light, and the small silencers attached made them sound like puffs of air when shot. She carried hers at her side as she walked toward Mitch without a problem. If Natalie and her boyfriend had heard the scream, they hadn’t been worried enough to check it out.
Mitch was still in the car when she got closer, with his hand clamped over fake cop’s mouth. The shock seemed to have paralyzed him into indecisiveness, so she took advantage. In one quick move she opened the back passenger door and pressed the gun into the back of Mitch’s head.
“You did this shit?” Mitch said loudly.
“Don’t complain. He’s alive, isn’t he?” She pressed harder. This was an exercise she’d experienced in training. When an instructor was able to slip past her defenses and get the drop on a head shot, the barrel had always been cold, as if it flaunted its ability to cause your death with a quick squeeze of its trigger.
“Think how much luckier he is than Maria Ross.”
“Who?” He squirted out the predictable answer faster than she imagined, and it was loud enough for Don to hear and laugh at.
“You weren’t there, but he was, and after they brought out all those body bags he went running to you. All your goons with the chain saw died, and your friend here acted like he was next.”
“How do you know all that?” Mitch sat with his head straight as if she’d shoot if he moved too much. “What’s your connection to Maria?”
“Mitch, when you’re holding a gun to my head, you’ll get to ask whatever questions you want, but right now, answer. Don’t ask questions. Correct answers are the only way to get yourself out of here. Understand?”
“What do you want to know?” he said, ignoring or missing that she knew his name.
“Who do you work for?”
“Emray Gillis.” Mitch spoke so fast, he stuttered the last name.
“He was Maria’s boss too?”
“No, but the stupid bitch was planning something and avoiding her phone.”
“Planning what?”
“I don’t know,” Mitch said, letting his head fall forward, as if realizing the answer would cost him. “It was like she was trying to run out on her life and start over without giving Emray a chance to get what he wanted.”
“I thought you didn’t know? Are you sure it was Emray she was holding out on?”
“Everybody in the business knew the score at the bar, but word was she was trying to sell. Maria didn’t advertise, but she was ready to leave. She was willing to give anyone but my boss a shot.”
“Why are you here?” Fake cop’s moans were starting to give her a headache.
“Emray wanted us to watch and
see where the bitch in there goes. That’s all he said.”
“Don, what clearance do I have?”
“Officially you have none,” he said softly, “but personally, the fewer people that can find their way back to Aubrey and Tanith, the better off you’ll be.” The line went dead.
“Where do I find Emray?”
“I’m dead if I tell you that. He’s not the kind you mess with or turn on.”
“You’re dead later, or you’re dead now, pick.”
Mitch gave up the address as easily as he had everything else. “That’s all I know.”
“I doubt that, but there is something else I want to ask you.” There was a bullet chambered so she lowered the barrel to the back of his neck. This was why she’d killed the call with Don. He had nothing to do with the next part. “Do you remember Tammy Culver?”
“Who the fuck is that?”
“A young girl from Brownsville, Texas. Her father’s the sheriff.”
Mitch made the mistake of laughing. “You’re a cop? Man, you ain’t ever getting away with this, and you’re not gonna make anything stick from this conversation.” Just like Dr. Jerry, another legal expert.
“Tammy Culver’s father’s a cop, but he loves being a father more than upholding the law against scum, so he asked me to do him a favor.”
“Wait,” Mitch screamed.
“You remember her now?”
“Yeah, and it wasn’t my fault she took too much. I told her not to do it, but she didn’t listen.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to explain it to her.” Fake cop moaned louder when she pulled the trigger and Mitch’s throat hit the dash before his head. She’d intended to leave fake cop alive, but he’d obviously seen something else in her expression and he clumsily reached for something in his lap. “If you have a gun in your lap, drop it out the window or I’ll paint the steering wheel with your brains.”
“Please don’t kill—”
She hit him with the butt of her gun, not wanting to waste any more time. “Meet me back at the house,” she said to Don as she made her way up the street. Her gait was so controlled, anyone watching would think she was out for an evening stroll.