Edge of Danger

by Katie Reus

  But Max Southers hadn’t cared about any of that. The guy had had it out for him for some reason. Arrogant fucker. Now he was dead and his precious fucking team were all going to die too. Because there was no way the DEA or any other law enforcement agency would let their “treasonous” actions go unpunished. It was sweet, ironic justice that men like Pankov would be accused of treason when they were such obnoxious patriots. They all thought they were better than him.

  They were wrong.

  When Hillenbrand had originally approached him, he was suspicious that it had been a trap. That maybe someone at the DEA had suspected his discontentment or even knew about some of his backdoor dealings. So he’d been careful, but Hillenbrand wanted change in this country, just as he did. Maybe he wasn’t as extremist as Hillenbrand or his cronies, but he liked the money he was getting paid. And from what he could tell, Hillenbrand was more in this for the money than the men he worked with too.

  And if everything went according to plan, there’d be a lot more. So if he had to take some risks at work, it was worth it for the payoff. As he linked an offshore bank account to one of Cole Erickson’s accounts, he smiled to himself. He was making sure there was a clear trail incriminating all four men, but it couldn’t be too obvious.

  When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he jumped, then cursed himself. He glanced at the screen, and a shot of adrenaline slammed through him as he read the alert. Tucker Pankov’s parents had just received a phone call from a number with a D.C. area code. He stopped what he was doing and called Hillenbrand.

  “Yeah?” he answered on the first ring.

  “I might have a hit on one of the targets.”

  “That’s good because one of them was just spotted in fucking D.C.,” the man snarled. “Pankov took down a cop.”

  “He killed someone?” That didn’t sound right.

  “No, but he’s got a woman with him. Sounds as if he’s kidnapped her. I’m not sure what’s going on.” His tone made it clear that was why he was so angry. Hillenbrand liked to be in control of everything.

  “Someone just called Pankov’s parents. The number’s got a D.C. area code. I don’t recognize it. Possibly a burner. I can try to get someone here to trace it, but there will be a record of—”

  “My guy will do it,” Hillenbrand snapped.

  He rattled off the number and let out a huff of annoyance when Hillenbrand just hung up. If rudeness was all he had to deal with for such a high payday, then he could deal with it. At this point he could deal with anything because very soon he’d be quitting his job and retiring somewhere warm.

  Chapter 9

  Gun: term for a mortar or artillery piece. Military or former military personnel don’t use it to describe a pistol or rifle. Instead they often use the term “weapon.”

  Rayford took a sip of his scotch, not caring that it was early afternoon. He was ready to drink half of Hillenbrand’s bottle as he watched that grungy hacker, Gary, work on triangulating a cell phone number.

  “If the local police are involved, shouldn’t we just give them the info? Anonymously or something?” Rayford asked, glad his voice didn’t shake. This was a little too hands-on for him.

  Hillenbrand shot him a derisive look before turning back to watch Gary work. “It’s better if we kill Pankov outright. If he gets brought in for questioning, who knows what he’ll say? And we don’t know who that woman is either.”

  “Didn’t your contact say she’d been kidnapped?” Who cared who she was? Hillenbrand seemed to have contacts everywhere, including someone in administration he’d paid off at the D.C. Police Department.

  “Yes, and she was flagged as a priority even though she’d only been missing for a few hours. My contact knows literally nothing else about her. That’s not good. Since it’s doubtful Pankov and his men randomly kidnapped a woman, she must be important to them somehow. Unfortunately her name is common enough it’s been hard to find out who she is.”

  “You think Pankov’s men are with him?”

  Hillenbrand’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t spare him another glance. “How the fuck do I know? They weren’t reported as being seen.”

  “What if . . .” Rayford cleared his throat, wondering if he’d been a fool to get involved in all this. Everything had seemed so clear at the outset. Even after the bombing of the Nelson fund-raiser, he’d still been sure of his decision. Now it felt as if he was getting his hands too dirty. For a man who’d spent his life avoiding scandal of any kind, this was making him edgy. Not to mention that they’d pissed off four very trained and deadly men—men who’d killed or done something to the hitters Hillenbrand had sent after them. “What if he does get brought in alive? Him or the others? What if they’re able to prove they weren’t involved with the bombing at the Garden? Or what if—”

  “Enough,” Hillenbrand gritted out. “If that happens I have a backup plan.”

  Rayford blinked. “Backup plan?”

  Hillenbrand let out an exasperated sigh, then jerked his head in the direction of the door. They were still in the entertainment room of his townhome. Rayford followed him, stopping when Hillenbrand did. Hillenbrand glanced over at Gary, who was still typing away like a man possessed. Rayford doubted the guy was even aware of them at this point, but he guessed Hillenbrand didn’t want to disturb the hacker.

  “Our DEA contact is our fall guy if things go south, so stop worrying. I picked him for a reason.”

  “Seriously?” He couldn’t even hide his surprise.

  Hillenbrand gave a sharp nod, as if annoyed at being questioned. “He’s disgruntled and I have proof that he’s taken kickbacks before. He was such an easy mark. That’s how I knew to approach him in the first place. He’s already gotten his hands dirty before and he had issues with Southers. Not exactly public knowledge, but his beef with Southers was known enough within the right circles at the DEA. He’s the perfect scapegoat if we need one.”

  Some of Rayford’s fear eased, but if the DEA agent took the fall for setting up the others, it would screw up their ultimate plan of blaming the Shiâ terrorist group and starting another war in the Middle East. Now that the goal was finally within reach, he wanted it too bad. Wanted all the money he’d make with Hillenbrand’s contracts and the power his own boss would gain. Eventually he planned to tell his boss what he’d done, but Rayford needed to give him deniability for now. “What about our end game?”

  “We”—he nodded in Gary’s direction—“have already linked him to the same group we linked the others to. It’ll look like he wanted to implicate four innocent men he worked with but still make sure his terrorist organization took the credit. So we still get what we want in the end.”

  The Iran-based Shiâs would be blamed and Hillenbrand and Rayford’s candidate for president could start a war—as soon as he took office, of course. Rayford nodded, breathing easier. It bothered him that Hillenbrand was just telling him this now. If the other man could set up his own contact, who was to say he wouldn’t try to set up Rayford? But that wouldn’t make sense, not when Rayford was linked to the next potential president. And not when Rayford was indirectly linked to Hillenbrand’s own company.

  Even so, Rayford realized he needed to pay attention to everything now, to have a backup plan of his own. Damn it, he needed dirt on Hillenbrand. Dirt completely unconnected to the drone theft and subsequent bombing. Something not connected to him; something he could use against the guy if he ever got backed against a wall. Shelving those thoughts for now, he had started to respond when Gary called out.

  “Got him!” His tone was smug as he linked the screen from his laptop to the screen on the wall. “I’m not sure how long he’ll have that phone, but that’s where he is at this moment.”

  Hillenbrand was already on one of his own burner phones, calling someone. The tone of the conversation made it clear the man on the other end was a hired mercenary. Rayford knew the guy had men like that on his payroll—clearly, since he’d sent a team after Pankov and his men—bu
t it still made him uncomfortable knowing Hillenbrand had resources like that at his disposal.

  When Hillenbrand hung up, his grin was like the Cheshire Cat’s. That hint of madness was back, just a glint in his eyes that made Rayford want to finish the rest of the scotch bottle in one sitting. He kept his emotions locked down, though. Hillenbrand couldn’t even have a hint that Rayford was uncomfortable around him. He just needed to remain calm and ride this thing out. In the end they’d all get what they wanted: money and power.

  “So?” he asked, eyebrows raised when his partner didn’t say anything.

  Hillenbrand’s eyes gleamed just a bit brighter as he said, “I’ve got guys stationed all over the city and someone on Pankov and the woman now. My contact’s only a block away from them. Going to kill the woman too just in case.”

  Tucker handed the phone he’d been using to Karen. “Go ahead and call Burkhart now. He’ll have heard from the locals that you’ve been spotted. If your people are as good as I think, they’ll have tagged our location by now anyway.”

  Her lips pulled up a fraction and he wished he could see her smile for real. She was already so beautiful, he knew she’d be even more stunning when she smiled. Not that he should be noticing that anyway. There was no way in hell he’d ever have a chance with her, especially not after he’d kidnapped her by way of meeting. “If they haven’t yet, they will soon. There are just too many ways to track us now that we’re in D.C. I promise Wesley will give you a fair shot. He’ll be annoyed it’s just you and not your team, but— What’s that guy doing?”

  Tucker was pulling through a four-way stop when an SUV’s engine suddenly gunned before barreling at them. Cursing, he pressed on the accelerator, trying to get out of the way. He zoomed through the intersection, but the SUV clipped the back bumper of the truck.

  Karen let out a short yelp as the truck did a three-sixty. Heart in his throat, Tucker held the steering wheel firmly as the vehicle spun on the icy roads. He eased his foot off the gas, not wanting the brakes to lock up. He’d taken enough defensive driving classes to—

  Metal crunched as the SUV rammed into the driver’s side, sending them skidding across the intersection and slamming into a stop sign. He’d disabled the airbags, as he always did on an op, so at least they didn’t deploy. He couldn’t risk one slamming him in the face and stunning him or making it impossible to get to his weapon if he was being attacked. Tensing at the impact, he unstrapped his seat belt and jumped across into Karen’s side of the vehicle. His adrenaline was pumping so hard now he barely felt a thing.

  Her eyes were wide with fear, but at least she wasn’t panicking and she didn’t look injured. He’d worry about that later. First, he had to eliminate this threat.

  Tucker grabbed the pistol from her and slid the magazine in as a barrage of bullets hit the driver’s-side door and window. The old truck had bullet-resistant windows and was armored, but he didn’t know what kind of firepower their attacker—or attackers—had. He shoved her onto the floorboards, using his body to cover her.

  “Stay put, Karen. This truck is armored. You’ll be safe for now. And call Burkhart.” He tried to look through the driver’s-side window, but the glass was spidering out from the impact of the bullets and probably the crash. Same with the windshield.

  He needed to get a visual on their attacker. Which meant getting out of the fucking vehicle. He hated leaving her, but he had to keep Karen safe. He’d dragged her into this mess and he’d be damned if she got injured or worse because of him. He knew one thing: this wasn’t the cops and it wasn’t the NSA. Neither would open fire on them like this, not with Karen in the truck with him. This was a brazen attack in broad daylight. Had to be the same asshole—or more likely assholes—who’d set up his team.

  She was shaking and her ivory skin had gone a grayish color, but she nodded. “I’ll make the call.”

  The firing had stopped, probably because the shooter realized the truck was armored. Which gave Tucker a small window to get outside and go on the offensive.

  There was no one waiting to ambush him on the passenger side, so he opened the door and dropped down, his boots thudding faintly against the sidewalk. They were on a quiet street in a residential area, which pissed him off even more about this attack. He’d just seen a traffic sign for a school zone. It hadn’t been flashing and he was certain it was too early for kids to be getting out of school, but coming after him and Karen in a school zone made him want to rip apart whoever was after them even more than he already did.

  It was still silent, so he ducked down and looked under the truck. He spotted only one set of feet. Men’s boots. The guy was cautiously moving toward Tucker’s truck. Bold, to do it without cover. Maybe the shooter thought he and Karen had been knocked out during the accident. He was about to find out how very wrong he was.

  Closer, closer, closer— He fired at the man’s ankles, hitting first the left, then the right. Hitting the bone like that would hurt like a motherfucker and prevent him from being able to walk.

  The man screamed at the unexpected sharp pain. His bones had probably splintered, the damage vicious. Tucker felt a perverse pleasure at the sound of the guy’s agony.

  The man lay on the ground on his side, a MAC-10 in one of his hands as he tried to push up. Whoever had trained this guy had done a piss-poor job. This attack was bold, yes, but it was weak.

  In a situation like this it was doubtful the shooter knew who’d hired him, but since there was a possibility he did, Tucker wanted him alive. He had started to move, planning to approach him from the rear of the truck, when the guy suddenly shifted positions, rolling onto his side, weapon clutched tightly in his hand.

  The second the man’s gaze locked on Tucker’s under the truck, Tucker fired, hitting him twice center mass, then once in the head in case he was wearing body armor. Tucker bit back a curse as he stood and scanned his surroundings. There was a vehicle approaching from one of the side streets. Shit, shit, shit.

  It was either a civilian or law enforcement—or backup for this guy. None of those options were good. The only thing on Tucker’s side was the damn cold weather. No one was out walking their dog or pushing a stroller in this temperature.

  Moving quickly, he rounded the back of the truck and slowly approached the sprawled man. Blood spread under him, the crimson mushrooming out under his body in a macabre pool.

  Tucker still had his weapon trained on him, but kept his peripheral on the approaching car. It reversed quickly, the tires squealing as it swiveled in the opposite direction—probably because the driver saw Tucker’s weapon. A civilian, then. Just as well, and better than a freaking cop.

  He tapped the guy once in the eye with his boot even though he’d taken a head shot. No movement. It was impossible to fake being dead or unconscious if someone jabbed you in the eye. The body’s reaction was too reflexive. Something he’d learned in the Corps.

  He kicked the MAC-10 away, then did a quick check of the man’s body. No ID. He had started to move to the guy’s SUV when he heard a shuffling behind him. Weapon raised, he swiveled but immediately lowered it.

  Karen stepped out from the back of the truck, her ponytail rumpled, her eyes wide, and his laptop bag in hand. “The closest any of my people are is twenty-five minutes out.” Even as she spoke, multiple sirens blared in the distance.

  He didn’t know that they were intended for him, but he figured they were. Now that he’d been spotted in public, soon there would be a citywide manhunt out for him—if there wasn’t already.

  Tucker didn’t like leaving Karen, not when this guy had been coming for both of them. Tucker might have been the target, but it was clear the killer hadn’t cared if she was killed in the cross fire. “Give me your phone.”

  She seemed startled but handed it over. He snapped a few pictures of the dead guy, then turned her phone off and took out the battery. “I’ve gotta go. Twenty-five minutes is too long. You can stay or come with me. I don’t like leaving you to the locals, be
cause I don’t know who to trust. My parents’ phone must have been under surveillance. They must have tracked us using my burner.” Something he’d considered before making the call to them, but he’d also tossed the cell out the window immediately after placing the call. No one should have been able to tail them. So if someone tracked his throwaway phone, they’d have had to have someone in the direct vicinity of Tucker. Which was a lucky—or unlucky for the dead guy—break for the people after Tucker. He sure as hell wouldn’t make a mistake like that again.

  Karen looked at the bullet-riddled, destroyed truck, then at the dead guy. She swallowed. “That guy wanted both of us dead.”

  It was certainly possible. When she met his gaze again, he knew she was coming with him. Even though she’d probably be safer away from him, a fierce protectiveness jumped in Tucker’s chest at the thought of taking care of her. He’d gotten her into this mess and damn it, he wanted to be the one to keep her safe, to stop this threat once and for all. And he couldn’t get past how someone had tracked them so damn fast. He could easily guess how they’d done it, but it had been too fast. It could have been the DEA, but it could have been another agency. What if whoever was behind this had the cops on their payroll too? There were too many unknown variables.

  “I know a place we can go, off the grid. Safe for at least a few hours,” Karen said, limping toward him. “I’m not meeting anyone but Wesley at this point. We had a mole in the NSA not that long ago. I don’t think it was my people, but . . .” She looked at the truck again and gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m not staying here like a sitting duck.” There was determination in her voice as she spoke.

  He knew he should tell her to stay put, to wait for her people, but . . . he needed to keep her safe. The desire to do so ran deeper than he’d imagined. He nodded at the driver’s SUV. “Come on.” He just needed to get them away from this intersection before stealing another vehicle. He hated that he might be dragging her into the line of fire again, but at the moment neither of them had a choice.