by Misty Evans
Gone.
Whatever had been on that phone was now in the hands of the psycho.
The first police car arrived, skidding into the drive. Time to go. Cal started backing out the other way, praying Bianca had made it to the car and was safe. His gaze swept across the island and caught sight of a piece of paper on the countertop. Had that been there before?
Car doors slammed outside. No time to look. He shoved the paper in his pocket and high-tailed it.
Chapter Thirteen
The shaking started the moment she saw Cal.
Hold it together.
Exactly what she had been doing, huddled behind the wheel of the car with Maggie as police cars streamed by and dozens of onlookers followed. Holding her breath, trying not to let her mind run wild with possible scenarios. That lightheaded feeling had returned and a weird ringing had set up camp between her ears.
Seeing Cal, safe and unharmed, sent a wave of relief coursing through her system. Through the windshield, his gaze locked on hers. Her frozen lungs gulped oxygen and a smile broke over her face. Her lips still remembered the warm imprint his had left behind.
He didn’t smile back.
Maggie, in the passenger seat with her head out the window, wagged her tail furiously in Bianca’s face. Bianca couldn’t blame the dog. She knew the feeling.
She started the engine. Cal approached the driver’s side, eyes scanning the area. “Move over.”
His voice was grim. Bianca started to protest that she would drive, but the next second, he opened her door, leaned down, and forcefully shoved her across the bench seat.
“Hey!”
The dog danced over her lap and greeted Cal. He patted her head and slipped into the driver’s seat, putting the car in gear at the same time. Before he even shut the car door, they were moving.
Fast.
Bianca hastily snapped on her seat belt, doing her best to keep Maggie from slamming into the dashboard as Cal took a sudden left. She wanted to throw her arms around him, hold him tight for a minute to reassure herself he was there and he was okay. The tight set of his jaw and his quick movements as he dodged around people and other vehicles told her now wasn’t the time.
She kept quiet, biting the inside of her cheek for a couple of miles until they located the highway. Maggie climbed into Bianca’s lap and stuck her head out the window, and although Bianca protested, she let the dog stay. Dog smell filled her nostrils, but as they increased speed, the wind flowing through the car lessened it, and the feel of Maggie’s strong, solid body, half in, half out of her lap, was reassuring.
I’m not a dog person, she reminded herself, except maybe for this one.
The Chevelle continued to eat up the highway and still Cal said nothing. Typical.
The boy who’d seduced her with nonstop talk in high school about his dreams and their bright future together had turned into the man who wouldn’t communicate. During their marriage, he’d become more and more withdrawn, his mind always on the next training operation or mission. She’d understood he couldn’t discuss his job, but it had gotten so bad, he wouldn’t engage in even a simple conversation about the weather.
He doesn’t know what to say to you.
Petting Maggie’s side, Bianca divided her attention between the side-view mirror and straight ahead. The sun was setting on Cal’s left, the peach-colored orb of hydrogen and helium hovering ever lower over the Pacific and taking its heat and light with it.
On her right, shadows grew larger, inching ever closer. Cal was thinking—always thinking—but she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “What happened back there?”
No response. A muscle jumped in Cal’s jaw. Uh-oh. “Did you kill him?”
Silence. Then, “No.”
Bianca didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. Killing Tephra wouldn’t stop whoever was after her. They’d simply send another assassin to do the job. “Did the police arrest him?”
“No.”
At least Cal was answering her questions, even if his answers could use some elaboration.
If you don’t want yes and no answers, ask a better question. “Why were they there? Who called them?”
“Neighbors probably heard you fire your gun.”
“Oh. How did you get the car?”
His jaw worked slightly as if he were grinding his teeth. “Traded the boat for it.”
“The boat? What about my briefcase? What about your closet full of guns?”
He glanced sideways at her, back to the road. “Your briefcase and a couple of guns are in the trunk.”
She waggled her fingers at him. “Can I have my phone?”
The muscle jumped in his jaw again, and this time, he didn’t answer even after she waited several seconds.
Double uh-oh. “Tell me you got my phone.”
Cal shot her a menacing look. “He took it.”
“What?” As the realization sunk in, she laid her forehead against Maggie’s shoulder. “Why the hell would Tephra take my broken phone?”
“Maybe because you had top secret info on it?”
His voice had turned sarcastic. She couldn’t tell him the truth—there was no top secret information. A few funky apps she’d designed, yes, but the reason she wanted the phone back was because of the photos.
The last happy time she’d had with Cal was recorded in a series of pictures on that phone. Earlier that year, they’d taken a weekend trip to northern California to watch migrating whales. Cal hadn’t wanted to go, but she convinced him a weekend getaway would be good for them. He hadn’t known, but it was her last ditch effort to save their marriage. They’d spent their days on a boat—her least favorite place in the world—watching for whales. Their nights were spent enjoying fresh seafood and good wines.
Cal had relaxed. She knew he would on the water. They’d laughed and talked and made love a dozen times in a few days.
She’d taken shots of Cal and the whales. Her favorite, though, was one taken by a friendly passenger who’d offered to get both of them in the picture. Cal had enclosed Bianca in his arms and leaned his head against hers. At the moment the woman snapped the photo, a whale breached the water behind them, as if it wanted its picture taken too.
The last happy time we’ll ever share. Gone.
Cal wouldn’t have understood. He would have rolled his eyes and shook his head. That’s why she’d told him she had information on her phone that could endanger national security. She’d known if she told him the truth, he wouldn’t make an effort to get the phone.
Now it was too late.
“Is that why he was after you, B? Did you steal security secrets?”
“You think I’m a traitor?”
He locked eyes with her for half a second, shook his head and looked away. “I know you’re not telling me everything. Same as usual.”
Turning her head so Cal couldn’t see her face, Bianca watched the darkening landscape roll by as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Chapter Fourteen
Cooper spotted Ronni rushing toward him even before he was out of his vehicle. The block of expensive beachfront properties was jammed with police cars, CSI techs, and onlookers.
Ronni and Nelson Cruz, an ICE agent with the taskforce, had been keeping surveillance on a bus driver suspected of moving drugs and fake Gucci bags near Huntington Beach. They’d arrived at the house an hour before Cooper and his merry band of Thomas and Bobby, but had run into a wall of law enforcement wanting to protect their territory.
“Talk to me, Punto,” Cooper said as Ronni met him halfway to the yellow tape cordoning off the house and sidewalk. Thomas was helping Bobby out of the SUV. “Did Dupé get you access to anything?”
The two-story house loomed behind her, an expensive place with blue-grey siding and white trim. “The director’s call was not well received.” She kept her voice low and her eyes on the surrounding crowd. “But I got the sergeant in charge, Ethridge, to pony up a few details.”
She waited for
Thomas and Bobby to catch up with them before leading the three of them away from a cluster of folks gathered at the edges of the yard. A police officer guarded the front door, holding it open for a CSI tech to enter.
Ronni took the sidewalk to the side yard and led them around back to another officer keeping watch over the boat dock. He seemed to recognize her, but held up a hand to stop them all the same.
Cooper flashed his badge, as did Thomas and Bobby. The cop nodded once and lifted the yellow tape to allow them to pass.
Ronni continued walking, taking them to the boardwalk that led to the dock. There, she stopped and pointed at a small house boat that had seen better days. “Guess who owns this boat?”
“Reese?”
“A guy showed up about twenty minutes ago saying it was his. When Ethridge questioned him, the guy said a man fitting Reese’s description sold it to him in exchange for a pale yellow 1969 Chevelle.”
Thomas scanned the boat. “Even without seeing the car, I’d say Reese got the better deal.”
“Ethridge already put out an APB on the car.”
Cooper didn’t really give a damn about Reese. “Was Agent Marx here?”
Ronni nodded. “The next-door neighbor reported she heard gunshots and saw a woman fitting Bianca’s description leaving the house with a large, black dog shortly afterward. The woman and dog headed north on foot. They were in a hurry.”
Bianca was alive. Alive was good. “The neighbor didn’t see Reese?”
“No, but she did see a second boat in the slip and a man boarding it after the woman and dog took off. Said he was in a hurry to leave as well.”
“Reese?” Bobby asked.
“She didn’t get a good look at him except from the back, but estimated he was under six foot and weighed one-eighty. She also said she thought he was in his mid- to late-forties—his hair had streaks of gray in it. I showed her the photo of Cal Reese Bobby sent to my phone. It wasn’t him.”
Two boats, a second man. Bianca leaving the house on her own. Cooper’s brain spewed out scenarios, none of which he particularly liked. Was Reese involved in something bad and Bianca was now caught in it? “Who fired the shots?”
“We don’t know.” Ronni led them to the glass doors, explaining about the security system and how there was no forced entry. No locks or windows had been broken. Whoever entered knew the security code.
Bobby has his tablet out. He glanced up at Cooper. “Got a hit on Emit Petit. He was a childhood friend of Cal’s and Bianca’s.”
“Both of them?” Thomas asked.
“They grew up together in Oceanside,” Bobby said, continuing to read his screen. “Lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same school.”
Bobby’s brows lowered and he frowned. “My source at the Defense Department won’t go on record, but he says it’s possible one of SEAL Team Seven’s missions last year was to rescue Petit’s sister from a kidnapper.”
“So Cal and Bianca came here for what?” Thomas asked. “A second honeymoon?”
“There’s blood splatter in the kitchen,” Ronni said. “I haven’t gained access yet, but I know they also found bullet casings.”
Cooper’s hands balled into fists. His taskforce members were like family. The thought of one of them being injured made him want to punch something. “Is it Bianca’s blood?”
Ronni’s eyes were sad as they met his. “We don’t know yet. CSI is working on it. I asked the witness if she thought either of the people she saw were injured. She said the man was holding his shoulder and there might have been blood on his arms. She wasn’t sure.”
He looked out at the boat. “We have a dead body back at the marina, a missing agent, a mystery man with a second boat, and a SEAL with PTSD. Theories?”
Cooper’s team all stared back at him, no one saying a word.
“That’s what I thought.” He needed to see the inside of the house and talk to Ethridge. He probably should check out the boat as well.
Waste of time. A trained SEAL wouldn’t leave clues. “Ronni, you and Bobby stay here, check out the house and the boat. Update us on anything new. Thomas, let’s roll.”
“Where are we going, boss?” Thomas hustled to keep up with him.
Being on the move—doing something—eased the tightness in his fists. “To hunt down a pale yellow ’69 Chevelle.”
Chapter Fifteen
Three hours later
The last time Bianca’s head had been in his lap, he’d been a happy camper. Now, Cal was anything but.
Not entirely true. Driving through the cool fall night, Bianca and Maggie with him, both safe and sound, had a strange effect on him. He wasn’t the lone wolf type, wasn’t into solitude and finding his Zen. Yet, right at that moment, he felt calmer and more clearheaded than he had in weeks.
He should have found the nearest FBI office and dumped Bianca’s butt off there. Whatever she’d done, whatever information she’d stolen, was not his problem. But when had he ever turned his back on her?
FUCK. Foolish. Unwise. Careless. Kowtowed. His acronym for life with Bianca. When it came to her, he was all of those things. In other words, fucked.
He glanced down at her sleeping face nestled in the V of his crotch. Her hair was tousled, spread out over his legs, her dark lashes blending into the shadows under her eyes.
Beautiful. All high cheekbones and smooth, porcelain skin, even in the yellowy glow from the dashboard. She wore squat for makeup, which always made her look younger than she was, and she refused to get contacts, wearing her glasses like a shield. Hiding her emotions.
The current pair of heavy, purple frames had fallen off an hour ago, and he’d set them on the dash. Now, he gently brushed several strands of hair off her cheek. At his light touch, her full lips parted. She said something in her sleep, the sexy sound, and her warm breath, doing a number on his groin.
Had he really kissed her back at the beach house? Technically, she’d kissed him. Hers was sort of an impulsive, hyped-up, adrenaline-driven quickie on his mouth. His, however, had been more calculated. Premeditated. He’d wanted to kiss her and kick her in the butt at the same time since she’d shown up at The Love Boat.
But mostly kiss her.
FUCKed. Yes, indeed. She’d ripped his heart out filing for divorce and he still wanted to kiss her.
His backside had grown numb from sitting so long but he dared not move, lest he wake her. She was easier to get along with when she was sleeping, and it was easier on him to admire her beauty and remember how things used to be between them.
Earlier, he’d stopped at a convenience store north of L.A. to gas up and grab some snacks. Bianca had led Maggie to a nearby patch of grass to pee. Bianca’s eyes, her whole demeanor, had been cheerless and strung out. Cal had tried to harden his heart, tell himself there was nothing he could do for her, but she’d looked at him with those eyes—the ones that wrecked him every time—and instead of driving her directly to the Feds and letting them deal with her, he was on this back road with her and the dog, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
Since the moment he’d burst into Emit’s kitchen and saw her standing over the man on the floor with the Glock in her hand, he’d been trying to reconcile the geeky girl he’d been in love with since second grade with the woman warrior she’d become. She was still a geek, but circumstances had hardened her, changed her. It took a lot to bring out the tiger in Bianca, but when push came to shove, she had the resolve and tenacity to accept whatever challenge was handed to her and come out swinging.
But shooting a man? If he hadn’t seen the wound in the man’s shoulder, seen the blood, he wouldn’t have believed it.
She’d only injured him, not killed him. Was it for lack of skill or on purpose? How had she gotten the upper hand against a trained assassin?
Cal glanced in his rearview. No one was following them. He’d stayed off the major interstates and taken the scenic route wherever possible, avoiding larger cities and their police forces.
He still hadn’t touched base with Emit… Was it coincidence that the assassin had shown up right after Cal placed that call to his friend?
An all-night news station played softly in the background. There had been no breaking stories about a dead body at Culver’s Marina or a shootout at Emit’s place. That only meant law enforcement was keeping things quiet. Why?
Because of Bianca. An NSA agent on the loose was a dangerous weapon.
Cal had replayed his conversation with Rory Tephra in his head a hundred times as he drove through the night. At first, he’d tried to talk himself out of believing it was the MIA SEAL, but Rory’s words had convinced him.
You know who I am.
Gotta run, tadpole.
SEALs were frogmen. The older ones often called the younger ones—the rookies—tadpoles.
I only want to talk to your wife.
Marx is not the only target on this mission.
Tephra hadn’t lied; Cal was sure of it. From confessing he didn’t actually want to kill Bianca to implying the mission was bigger than taking out a nerdy NSA agent, it all added up. Bianca hadn’t gotten the drop on Tephra because she was a skilled operative hiding behind her geeky persona. No, Tephra honestly wanted to talk to her, not kill her. Only, he hadn’t expected her to fight back.
If only Cal had had time to ask more questions. The note from the breakfast bar was in his pocket. He’d glanced at it when they’d stopped for gas. A set of numbers in sloppy handwriting. Not a phone number or other easily identifiable combination. He didn’t know what they meant—Bianca might, but he hadn’t shared the paper with her yet.
Secure. First, he needed to land somewhere they’d be safe for a few hours. He needed as many answers from her as he did from Rory.
They crested a hill and Cal slowed the car. He flicked on the brights and saw his turn twenty feet ahead.
The paved road turned into gravel as Cal left the highway far behind. Pot holes the size of Kansas made the car dip and shimmy. Maggie woke and sat up, watching out the windshield. The bumping also woke Bianca, one of her hands using Cal’s leg to leverage her up, her fingers hanging on tight and shooting a renewed surge of lust straight to his groin.