“If you do that,” Adrian said, “then won’t the blackmailer know precisely what we know?”
“Not the way I send emails, he won’t.”
“This guy has breached security over and over throughout this whole thing.”
“Sure. But now I’m in on it,” Remy said.
Megan chuckled.
Remy said, “One of these days I’m going to run across something I can’t crack, or someone who is better than me. When that happens I’ll be sure to go back to bio-medical research.”
Megan winced. “I’m not sure I’m okay with that idea.” If the woman could hack anything, including genetics, it could lead to all kinds of breakthroughs, but that also meant she’d have a deadly virus or some brand new potential nerve agent on her hands. The federal agent in Megan wouldn’t settle for that as a future possibility.
Remy chuckled. “Then pray it never happens.”
Apparently done with their conversation, Adrian said, “So you’ll send us those names over email?”
“Already done. Should be on your phone now, Megan.”
She shifted the screen to check for notifications. “Yep, it came through.”
“Alrighty. Stay safe.”
The line went dead.
Adrian said, “I’m not sure I want to know how you met her.”
Megan swiped through to the email. “Suffice it to say, she’s saved my life more than once.”
“Good.”
Before she started reading, she said, “I didn’t escape from El Cuervo’s guys. I was rescued. By the people Remy works with. Or for.”
She’d never understood that distinction. Remy was part of a team the same way Megan was part of Double Down. Though, their team was comprised of an entirely different crop of people.
“Rescued?”
Megan nodded. “Somehow Steve knows them, and I knew him from an operation back in the day. When he heard I was missing, he made a call. It’s why I chose Double Down.” She paused. “Remy’s team is so far under the radar, they don’t even want anyone knowing they were there. Let alone what they were doing. So I made up the story of my escape.”
“Wow.” He shook his head. “That certainly answers a few questions.”
“Concerned about the inconsistencies in my story?” She cocked her head to the side. “Sorry I’m not a better liar.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary to be a good liar.”
“It was when I was undercover.” She shrugged, though it hurt to brush it off. “But considering how that turned out, maybe I wasn’t as good at it as I thought.”
Adrian nodded, his eyes distant like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head. “Or this plan by the blackmailer has been in play for years.” He shook his head. “There’s a horrific thought.”
“So my whole life has been nothing but someone else pulling strings? Making me do what he wants me to do, go where he wants me to go. For what?” she asked. “So he can get revenge for some clandestine operation my father was involved in? I was kidnapped two years ago. This can’t have been going on that long.”
“Revenge is a powerful motivator.”
She certainly knew that from personal experience. He didn’t need to tell her. If Megan ever found herself in the same room as El Cuervo again, she could prove exactly how powerful revenge was.
But that didn’t mean Zimmerman and the Venezuelan had anything more to do with the blackmailer than the fact that Zimmerman’s family had been targeted.
“I don’t like that look on your face.”
She folded her arms, then realized that just made her look defensive. Megan sighed and lowered them. What was the point in responding? She’d already given herself away.
The question was, what would Adrian do about it?
While he decided, Megan opened the email. “Two men are at the top of the list of Remy’s potential targets. A captain and a rear admiral. Both navy. They were listed in the planning stages of the operation. Remy said they’re both booked at the same hotel for this coming weekend.”
“It’s Friday morning,” Adrian said. “You mean tonight?”
It was Friday already? Megan shook her head. The last few days had thrown her for a loop. “Yes.”
Adrian made a face. “No, but yes?”
“No. Yes.” She shook her head again. “Yes, tonight.”
“I think you need a nap on the way there.”
Megan blew out a breath. He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t about to admit to weakness. She wanted to trust Adrian. In a way, she already did. No question. And yet, at the back of her mind this thing just…niggled at her. Maybe that wasn’t even the right word. Still, it was there. A tiny voice questioning whether everything was as she perceived it to be.
The same voice that had been there right before she and Will were captured. One she should have listened to.
If she had, would he still be alive?
If Will lived through that kidnapping the way she had, he’d be with her. Working to bring down Zimmerman.
But that meant she wouldn’t be with Adrian.
Megan blew out a breath and ran her hands through her hair. She probably looked like she’d been dragged through a bush by her feet. Been there. Not something she wanted to repeat, but life was life.
She said, “What about Will?”
Adrian’s look softened. “What about him?”
“Were we taken because we were on some list of the blackmailer’s?” she asked, aloud. Not necessarily expecting him to be able to answer. “Or because our FBI cover had been blown?”
Adrian got on his phone. “I’ll ask this Remy person.”
Of course he had her number now. He’d probably memorized it off Megan’s phone screen. Like it was that easy to contact Remy.
She said, “Maybe it had nothing to do with our trying to take down El Cuervo and everything to do with putting us in the path of this blackmailer. And then Will is killed—” She swallowed, but pulled herself together quick enough to say, “And I get…rescued. Which ruins their plans.” She thought for a second. “Now it seems like I have a part in what’s happening, all these years later. I don’t get it.”
In another scenario, would the blackmailer have forced her to get the sonic weapon from Emma and take it on a rampage? She could have been swallowed up by this, even more than she already was.
“Having a small part is a good thing, Meg.” His eyes were soft still. She liked that look on him.
But a good thing? Maybe. She didn’t like being the focus of some unknown entity playing God with all of their lives. Zimmerman could kill those two men—and more—before this was done.
She looked at the screen of her phone and kept reading.
“Adrian.”
He glanced up from his phone, a frown still on his face. “What?”
“This conference in Denver.”
He shifted to see what she was talking about.
“The place where these two men are booked, that Zimmerman supposedly wants to hit.” She looked up. “It’s where my mom is going.”
**
Adrian braced, and asked the question, “Same place those two Navy guys are going to be?” She nodded. He said, “Then let’s go,” and waved toward the SUV.
They headed that direction, and he detoured for a second to check in with Hank and fill him in. When he got to the vehicle, he saw Megan in the front seat. He climbed in the passenger side.
“My turn to drive,” she said, turning on the engine.
“Fine by me.” His heart was still racing from hearing those shots ring out. That split second where he didn’t know who was alive—and who was dead. Adrian had never liked those moments.
The FBI was all about regulation, procedure. Order. Then there were those times when it was pure chaos for a few minutes. The times that defined the rest of what they did and impacted the agents the most.
He tried to push away the adrenaline, even as it retreated. Get rid of the feelings of being flustere
d and out of control from his system as quickly as possible.
Get back to work.
The vehicle’s GPS directed Megan to the airport. Did Double Down have a plane waiting? They’d done that before. The FBI could probably get them on a flight to Denver tonight.
Megan’s phone buzzed in the cup holder. “Can you see who that is?”
“Sure.” She gave him her passcode, and he unlocked her phone. “Text from Mint. He hasn’t seen Steve.” The phone buzzed again. “Bradley hasn’t seen him either.”
Megan pressed her lips together, then shifted them back and forth.
Adrian wanted to ask why she was trying to get ahold of her boss. He backed up to her messages and looked for the thread with Steve. She hadn’t contacted him after she discovered Zimmerman’s likely target. She’d done it before—after they’d chased the shooter.
Was the shooter Steve?
The implications of that set his brain to spinning. He reached for his own phone to inform Hank, then hesitated. What if it wasn’t Steve who’d been the shooter? Megan might have just been trying to contact her boss so she could talk to him about who it had been.
Not Adrian.
No, she’d reached out to her boss.
The implications of that stung more than he liked. Hurt feelings were the last thing he needed right now, and weren’t going to help them bring down Zimmerman before it cost innocent lives.
He needed to get over himself and focus on the work. Especially now he knew his feelings for Megan ran deeper than they should.
She tapped the wheel with her finger. “You think Zimmerman’s going to use that sonic weapon on the whole building where the conference is? Or will he kill the two Navy officers some other way.”
She was worried about her mother. Adrian set a hand on her shoulder for a second and gave her a short squeeze. “Hank is going to call the Denver FBI office. They’ll get agents to the convention center to secure the place and look for Zimmerman. Between them and local police, they’ll make sure people are safe.” He paused, wanting to tell her there was nothing to worry about. That wasn’t true, was it? “Zimmerman’s picture will be everywhere. They can evacuate and do everything they can to keep everyone safe. They’ll lock down those two guys.”
Megan nodded. She knew the FBI was good at what it did. That was why so many terrorist attacks were thwarted. She had to trust.
He said, “The fact we know who we’re looking for and where he’s going puts us one step ahead of him.”
“Unless he already set it off.”
“Your mom is on her way there, right?”
She shot him a look. “Don’t remind me.”
“What I’m saying is that she didn’t arrive yet, right?”
“Right.”
Adrian nodded. “Then maybe Zimmerman is waiting until the right time. If we can redirect everyone before they get there and find those two guys, lock it down before the conference even kicks off tonight, then Zimmerman has no reason to set off that sonic weapon. Right?”
“Oh.”
“So we’re ahead of his game.”
“That is right.” She nodded. “Thanks.”
“I’m not trying to get you to feel better. False hope isn’t hope. But I’m trusting you’ll see that we’re on this, and we are ahead of Zimmerman. There’s little reason why we can’t stop this from happening.”
“That’s true.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “And hopefully while we get Zimmerman, Remy can use a process of elimination to figure out who the blackmailer is.”
“You think it’s El Cuervo?”
She shook her head. “No. But I think he might know who it is.”
“Because the blackmailer had that shooter protect him.”
“That doesn’t necessarily indicate it’s two different people. The reason why I don’t think it’s El Cuervo is because…” She swallowed.
“We don’t have to talk about this, if you don’t want.”
“It’s okay.” She blew out a breath. “I met him, though it was only a few minutes. He has people to do his dirty work. But I know him. I know his type. And that man is not in anything for revenge, only money.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s cold. Calculated. That’s probably a cliché, but it’s also true. He didn’t get where he is in that cartel by being nice. He wears his money. Italian suit. Silk shirt. Gold watch, gold chain around his neck. Like he’s trying to compensate for the scars on the side of his face by dressing as flashy as possible.”
“Scars?”
“They look like burns. I don’t know how far down below his collar they go, but the edge of one touches the bottom of his left ear.”
Adrian said, “I don’t know if the FBI knows that.” Was it significant? He could pray it was, but that wouldn’t make it so. What he needed to pray was that this might be a significant lead—and that Remy would find the connection. That she would uncover the blackmailer.
“They are minimal,” Megan said. “Unless they’re all under his shirt.”
“It isn’t on any of the photos of him that we have. Maybe Remy can look into his past and figure out where he got them.” If those scars, and the life he’d led, caused El Cuervo to evolve into a calculated power and money hungry killer, it might be helpful to know the details. It could lead to a weakness they’d be able to exploit in order to find him.
Megan shifted in her seat. “Whoa.”
“What is—”
Metal screeched against metal, and the SUV jerked forward. She hit the gas, and the engine revved as they pulled away. Adrian glanced out the back window. “Blue truck.”
“I see it.” She swerved between lanes, but it kept right on them. “Stay on the freeway, or get off?”
“Stay on.” There was nothing around them. And who knew when the next exit was?
The truck came at them again.
Bumped them again.
A compact car in front of them braked. Megan gripped the wheel two-handed. The truck clipped their back left corner. She steered hard to the right to avoid the compact in front, and they spun out.
Over the rumble strip. Onto the dry brush at the side of the freeway.
Adrian’s head whipped around, and he struggled to inhale against the inertia of spinning. Megan cried out, probably banged her arm on the door. But there was nothing he could do.
The SUV went down a shallow embankment and hit the berm on the other side. The airbags deployed.
Adrian shook off the impact and tried to get his bearings. He glanced over at Megan, slumped in her seat.
Lights flashed behind them. Headlights.
He reached for his gun.
They were coming.
Chapter 15
Megan’s whole body hurt. She heard the moan that came from her own throat before she even realized she’d made a sound.
It hurt to breathe. Adrian. She looked over at him. Gun out, looking around. “What..?”
He started, then said, “Good. You’re awake.”
He didn’t look hurt, just flushed. Adrenaline pumping again. The air in the SUV was thick with the smell of singed rubber. She coughed and almost passed out from the jolting pain it caused her body. Her arm and her hip, where she’d been grazed twice for goodness sake, stung like nobody’s business. But they didn’t hurt as much as her chest. It felt like she’d been sat on by an elephant.
“They’re coming.”
She shoved at the airbag and reached for the handle.
“Hold on. We do this together. Smart.”
Megan reached around. “I need my gun.”
She had to get to Denver. To her mom, and Zimmerman. Who was back there in that truck? If it was the shooter from the restaurant, then they were going to have a bigger problem than they already had. That had been a different car. But it could be him.
He grabbed her gun from the backseat and handed it to her. She checked to make sure it was ready to fire and flicked off the safety. “How many?”
/>
“Three.”
Outmanned and likely outgunned. This wasn’t going to end well.
She found the button and rolled her window down, ready to point her gun out and take out whoever tried to come at her.
“Megan Perkins?” The voice that called out was thickly accented in a way that made her skin crawl. She had nothing against Venezuelans, but the sound of a voice like that lived in her nightmares in a way she wasn’t ever going to escape.
What mattered was that it wasn’t the shooter from the restaurant. She wouldn’t have been able to handle someone she trusted betraying her like that—keeping her from being able to get to her mom.
“Get out of the truck, Megan,” the voice called out again. “Come with us.”
Her entire body chilled. She adjusted her grip on the gun. Tried to inject some life into her icy fingers.
“I can take the two on my side,” Adrian said. “You take the one on yours.”
Two? The second man would shoot him before he could take the guy out.
“No.” She reached for the handle.
“Megan.” He tugged on her arm, the one holding the gun.
She wasn’t going to let him get hurt. “Stay here. I’m going, you get Zimmerman.” It made her want to vomit just to say it, let alone the reality that she was going to actually do it. Don’t think about that. The alternative was worse.
Adrian would be hurt. Probably even killed.
He needed to live.
“Meg.”
She pushed the door open, then stuck her hand out so they could see she held nothing in it. No threat. Don’t hurt Adrian. Fear blinded her. She couldn’t even pray, the feeling was so all-consuming.
Adrian flung his own door open. Bang. He ducked against the onslaught of bullets from the gunmen. A split second later, he opened fire in return.
Bullets shattered the back window. She pulled her hand back in and tried to twist around in spite of the pain. Use the frame as cover, fire off a few shots of her own.
Time slowed in a way it always did when those moments between breaths meant the difference between life and death. Every pump of her heartbeat felt twice as fast, and yet slower than she thought possible. A strange dichotomy she didn’t have time to mull over.
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