The nurse hurried inside with a wheelchair, and the men helped pick Tate up and set her in the chair. The nurse tried to push her, but Humphrey waved her off. “I will let you know when you’re needed. Thank you for your excellent care.”
The nursed thanked Humphrey, and they stared after them as Humphrey walked off, pushing Tate down the hall.
“Is Birch alive?” Tate finally asked.
“I don’t know. They haven’t let me in yet. But they will.”
By the steely determination in Humphrey’s voice, she felt sorry for the wall of guards waiting in the secure ward. Tate looked back with tears in her eyes as she grabbed for his hand. “Thank you.”
Humphrey patted her hand as he wound his way through the maze of corridors. “Get ready,” he said, dropping her hand as they came around a corner and faced the wall of guards.
* * *
Lizzy and Dalton followed the course on the map that the military had best figured the bodies had traveled. So far, there were nothing but small houses and a few small hotels along the coast as they moved from Romania into Bulgaria.
“It shouldn’t be too much farther. The medic was pretty sure about time of death and how long they’d been in the water,” Lizzy said of George Stanworth and his now identified daughter, Helena.
Lizzy scanned the coast with her binoculars from her spot on the boat. “Let’s go around that small bend.”
Dalton revved the engine and steered around a small jetty. He slowed when he saw the coastline around the bend. A massive house sat maybe fifty yards from the shore. “I don’t see anyone,” Lizzy said, scanning the area.
“Let’s try it. It’s the first real possibility we’ve seen.” Dalton steered the boat toward the shore. He stopped ten feet from shore and tossed the anchor into the shallow water. He hopped out of the boat, the water came up to his chest. Lizzy handed him two guns and then jumped in after him.
They walked through the water and onto the beach. Dalton held out his hand and Lizzy stopped. He pointed to the ground next to a table. Blood coated the sand. He’d seen it enough to know that dark stain anywhere. “I’ll take the back. You go around front,” he ordered.
They sprinted off in different directions. Lizzy hugged the side of the house as she made her way around front. She heard glass breaking in the back and used the butt of her M16 to break out the glass door.
“Clear!” she heard Dalton call as she made her way through the rooms.
“Clear!” she called back as they met in the large living room looking over the sea. “They’re gone now.”
Alex buzzed her, and she looked at her phone. “Alex says Sally, the fake name Sandra is using, just boarded a plane in Bucharest.”
“Dammit,” Dalton cursed. “We were so close.”
“Let’s collect as much evidence as we can,” Lizzy told him as she found the kitchen and pulled out some plastic bags.
“We’ll collect the blood in the sand when we leave. Let’s get some items that likely would have been touched by the people here.”
* * *
Three hours later Lizzy and Dalton leaned against a crate as the plane took off. They were alone in the cargo hold with a bunch of large pallets of supplies, and it was perfect. They had a duffle bag of potential evidence, a secretary of state to talk to, and the rest of an organization to bring down. But for a couple hours, they’d have peace.
“Lizzy,” Dalton said against her head resting on his chest over the engine noise.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Lizzy turned her head and looked up at Dalton’s face. They hadn’t slept in days, his face was scruffy, and he was still the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
“I love you, too.”
* * *
Humphrey would never fool Tate again. He was a fierce warrior. He’d not only bullied his way into the secure ward, but also into Birch’s room. He was alive—barely. Tate gasped as Humphrey pushed her to Birch’s bed. He’d undergone three hours of surgery to repair a collapsed lung and internal bleeding.
As he lay on the white sheets, Tate wouldn’t have known he was alive if it weren’t for the beeping of the machines showing a steady pulse. “Birch,” she whispered as emotion overwhelmed her. Again Humphrey was there.
He rested his hand on her shoulder. “He’ll pull through. He should be waking from the anesthesia soon. And when he does we’ll be right here.”
Tate nodded as Humphrey parked her wheelchair next to the bed. “I’ll check with the doctors,” Humphrey told her, walking over to the ICU’s main station that overlooked the beds.
Tate reached out and clasped her hand in his. “Birch. We’re safe. We made it. Please come back to me.”
Tate hoped his eyes would open, but they didn’t. Instead, she rested their clasped hands against her cheek and talked. She talked about their future, about places she wanted to travel with him and things she wanted do together. Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to hours.
Tate’s voice had gone hoarse, but that didn’t stop her. “I always wanted to spend time at a small lake in the middle of the woods. It would be just you and me there. No outside world and no responsibilities, at least for a few days. Can you imagine sitting wrapped in each other’s arms on a dock overlooking the sunset?”
“I can.”
Tate’s eyes shot up to Birch’s face at the sound of his hoarse voice. He was so pale, but his eyes were opened, and there was a slight smile on his face.
“Birch!” Tate cried, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing him as doctors and nurses rushed into the room. Humphrey fought them off long enough for Tate to whisper that she loved him, and then a nurse yanked her wheelchair out of the room.
“Stop!”
Tate’s heart clenched as she heard the pain and energy it took Birch to call out. Everyone froze. “Since I am very much alive, I want you to bring my girlfriend back to my side immediately. We are not to be separated until our release. Is that understood?”
Tate was rushed back as a doctor looked down at Birch. “You’re doing well. You’ll be in the hospital five days or so. You lost a lot of blood. You had some internal bleeding when your rib punctured your lung. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to take Miss Carlisle away in about three hours. She needs surgery to set her broken leg. After that, I will return her to your side so long as you both rest. Do we have a deal?”
Birch nodded and grabbed her hand. The room cleared, and he looked at her with such love that Tate felt her heart fill. “I want you by my side forever,” Birch said, never taking his eyes from hers.
“There’s no place I’d rather be,” Tate smiled at him as he kissed her hand.
No matter what the next day brought, they’d all face it together. They would find Valeria, and the team would be back together. Humphrey, Lizzy, Dalton, Alex, Valeria, Crew . . . they were more than a team. They were family. Mollia Domini may have struck a direct hit that day, but her family would be together again soon. Mollia Domini would feel the full force of what they were capable of. The cracks had been made. It was time to blow them apart.
* * *
He sat looking at the videoconference screen. There were two black squares, and he felt the rage all over again. Fucking Stanworths and their mess. Sandra and the man looked worried. And they definitely should be. He would kill them faster than he killed the Stanworths if they didn’t get their jobs done.
“He survived,” Sandra said with a hint of fear lacing her voice. “The vice president has already turned power back over to Stratton.”
Rage erupted. He threw his glass against the wall, sending shards exploding into the air. His secretary knew better than to come in when he was like that, but he almost dared her. He wanted to lash out, but instead he took a calming breath.
“We have to move up phase three,” his other partner said. “How soon can it be done?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked at the list of locations he’d stolen bombs from. “It’s al
ready begun.”
6
Valeria put her lips to the hose and sucked. She coughed as the mild tasting gasoline filled her mouth, but then spat at the aftertaste coating her mouth. She shoved the hose into an old gas can she found at the marina as she tried to act as casually as she could next to the large speedboat. She’d love to steal this one, but Val knew it would be missed all too quickly. However, the smaller, older speedboat next to it wouldn’t be. The amount of debris on the cover led her to believe no one had touched the boat in a month.
Valeria put a kink in the hose and set a large stone on it, holding it in place as she carried the now full gas can to the older boat and filled up the tank to the top. Then she went back and filled the can the rest of the way up before pulling the hose and tossing it in the back of her boat in case she needed to steal more gas.
Val pulled the ball cap she’d stolen from a beach chair low over her eyes, hopped onto the boat, stored the gas can, and hotwired the boat. Without looking back, she pulled out of the local marina down a way from the resort and headed out to sea.
* * *
Grant Macay landed the Pave Hawk HH-60G at the Coronado naval base. Whoever this Valeria was, she must be important. And whoever was sending the orders had major talent for getting things done. The second Grant landed, fuel was being pumped full into his helo. A Navy man hit the side of the helicopter and Grant was off again, this time to a naval ship in the Pacific Ocean halfway down the Baja Peninsula.
Dalton Cage had been Grant’s pararescue leader before. They’d been stationed all over the world together. But things got interesting when they were at an undisclosed location in the Middle East and a helicopter with some SEALs, CIA Special Operations Group members, and one state department greenhorn went down. Their four-man team was prepped and ready to go into the line of fire to rescue the helo when orders came down grounding them. When Dalton came out ready to steal the helicopter and go himself, it was a no-brainer the team would go with him.
They rescued the helicopter and most of the people in it and had then been thrown behind bars at the Lakenheath Air Base in England immediately upon landing. Three weeks they had been left sitting there, until one day a little man with a bald head and glasses claiming to be the new chief of staff to the new president showed up. The team was divided up and each sent their separate ways while Dalton, as team leader, took the fall and was discharged for disregarding a direct order. Then out of nowhere Dalton and some women showed up on the air base Grant had been stationed at in the Philippines. They were using fake names but had the power to commandeer a helo and Grant, blow up a boat, and kill the man on it.
Shortly after his mission with Dalton, Grant had been restationed at Edwards. He hadn’t even gotten in trouble for sinking a Seahawk helicopter. Instead, it was as if it never happened. Grant had been left in the dark, but he was smart enough to put two and two together. Dalton was in some secret shit, and evidently the orders were coming from very high up the chain of command. Whoever Dalton was with was powerful enough to send Grant alone with a $50,000,000 plus helicopter and support from the Air Force and Navy. All to get one woman—a woman possibly under fire. But Grant found interrupting a shitstorm fun. It was his Scots ancestry. His parents were academics, but growing up, Grant had been more interested in the Highland games. So instead of becoming a professor or author, Grant had joined the Air Force. He wanted to fly high and fast. His ability to fly with nerves of steel was why he was recruited for the PJs. No one had more dangerous operations than the PJs, which is what made this lassie very interesting. Who was she, and what had she done to need his rescue? One thing was for sure, though Grant would get to this woman. He just hoped she was alive by the time he reached her.
* * *
Valeria pushed the boat across the choppy waters. A storm had rolled in and slowed her down while using up more of her gas than she’d liked. But it also made her harder to find. Valeria pushed the boat faster as the rain fell. Her skin was waterlogged. Her eyes stung from the rain hitting them as if each drop were a tiny needle. She was really starting to hate water, but she was six hours into a nine- to ten-hour trip. A trip that couldn’t end soon enough.
* * *
Humphrey Orville rubbed his hand over his face and bald head before putting his round wire-rimmed glasses back on. He sat in the empty parking lot of the closed restaurant, waiting. It had shut down last week, and all the security cameras had been disabled, which was why he’d chosen the place to have his meeting.
He took a sip of his coffee to help him stay awake. Tate had come out of her surgery with a steel plate and pins in her leg, but she was awake and resting with Birch. Birch had not trusted the vice president any more than he trusted anyone outside of their small group, so he’d insisted Humphrey stick to the VP’s side until the doctors cleared Birch to resume the presidency. That occurred the night before, close to two in the morning. The VP had handed power back and happily went home to sleep while Humphrey got everything Birch would need to run the country from his hospital room before heading to this meeting. And now he sat waiting for Thurmond Culpepper.
The power-hungry lackey of the traitorous Secretary of State Sandra Cummings pulled into the parking lot and drew up next to Humphrey. Humphrey opened the car door at the same time Thurmond did.
“Looks like it closed,” Thurmond called out instead of a greeting.
Humphrey shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t know. Oh well. This won’t take long and then we can grab breakfast on the way into the office.”
Thurmond walked around the car and followed Humphrey to a rotting picnic table on the side of the building. Humphrey took a seat with his back to the restaurant and waited as Thurmond looked with disgust at the wooden seat. He was probably afraid he’d get his expensive slacks or bright pink shirt dirty. Humphrey waited as Thurmond reluctantly took a seat. His hair was perfectly fluffed and sprayed, so it didn’t move in the gentle summer breeze.
“I’m guessing this is about Sandra’s family emergency? Well, let me assure you, she called me as soon as she heard what happened to President Stratton and is on her way back.” Thurmond pursed his lips in what Humphrey guessed was a thoughtfully worried look. “How is President Stratton? When Sandra called she wanted to know if he was still in power or if she should report to the vice president.”
“The president is in control of the country. He’s doing well and just needs some rest.” Humphrey leaned forward. “It’s all such a shock. I hope Sandra is safe. I worry if it’s an attack on the government that she may be in danger.”
Thurmond looked surprised, but he took a second too long to look it. The prick knew. “I’m sure she’s safe. But maybe I should talk to the Secret Service?”
Humphrey nodded. “That’s a good idea. After all, I’d hate to have Mollia Domini come after her too.”
Thurmond froze and then cleared his throat. “Who?”
“Silly me. I get things messed up easily with so much going on,” Humphrey laughed at himself. “Mollia Domini wouldn’t go after Sandra. Not when she’s one of them.”
“I . . . I . . . I’m sorry,” Thurmond stuttered shaking his head. “I don’t understand. Who is Mollia Domini and why would they be or not be after Sandra?”
“You’re not sorry, Thurmond. You know all about them. The question is, did you pass intel along to them so they could attack the president? Did you know they were trying to kill him? Were you helping them do it?”
Thurmond’s fake tanned skin paled. “No! I don’t even know—”
“Cut the bullshit you’re famous for spewing. We both know who and what Mollia Domini is, and we both know Sandra is up to her eyeballs in it. You always wanted to make a name for yourself, Thurmond. Now you’ll be remembered as the first person executed for treason since the Civil War. The history of treason is actually very interesting, but that’s for another time. The question is: do you want to die now or serve life in prison?”
“There’s no evidence such a group even
exists and certainly none that shows I helped,” Thurmond sputtered.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Does the name Branson Ames ring a bell?”
Thurmond looked ready to faint. “But Branson is gone . . . um, car crash I think.”
“You mean helicopter crash in Syria and he’s gone because Sandra put a hit on him? Luckily we got to him first, and he had a lot of things to say about you and Sandra.” Humphrey paused. “Oh! I forgot the second witness who saw you and Sandra putting cash in the locked briefcase for Branson to take. Cash that would be used to fund terror on behalf of Mollia Domini. Cash I am betting we can prove came from a small bank in Mexico owned by Manuel Hernandez.”
Thurmond froze for one second before leaping up. His eyes were wild. He turned to run but smacked into a solid growling wall that was Jason Wolski. Thurmond screamed as Jason wrapped his fingers around Thurmond’s thin arms and squeezed. Jason shook him like a ragdoll as Humphrey waited for Thurmond to stop screaming.
“Do shut up, Thurmond,” Humphrey snapped. Thurmond immediately shut his mouth. “Thurmond, look at the man holding you. Mollia Domini killed his wife. Do you believe he’ll kill you?”
Jason sneered and Thurmond pissed his pants.
“Good. Now, I advise you to start talking and I won’t let Jason kill you and leave your dead body in the alley here.” Humphrey waited as Thurmond began to cry. It was always the bullies who broke the fastest. Hidden within every bully was nothing but a coward. “Are you going to talk?”
Thurmond nodded and Jason turned him around and shoved him onto the bench. “Talk,” Jason growled.
Thurmond wiped his hand across his nose, smearing snot across his cheek. “Sandra recruited me. She knew I wanted to climb the ladder and dangled that in front of me. One day she caught me doing something slightly unethical to get some information so I could impress her and called me into the office. She talked to me for hours about my beliefs and thoughts on politics, political leaders, and the state of the world. Over the course of months, she asked me to do little things here and there that were off the books and I knew were wrong. I was rewarded after doing each one. I was promoted. I began to have a staff of my own.”
Shattered Lies Page 4