She squinted slightly in the brightness. "That's what what was?"
"That's why they tried to kill you."
She stared at him. "Excuse me?"
He couldn't keep himself from pacing. "You don't really think that fire was an accident, do you?"
“According to the experts in the fire department, it was an electrical malfunction. The wiring was ancient, there was a power surge and—"
"Nell, someone tried to kill you. That's why I'm here. To make sure that when they try again, they don't succeed."
She was so completely blown away she almost dropped the blanket. "Billy! God! Who would want to kill me?"
"Probably the same person who killed Jake and framed me," Crash told her. "Did you tell anyone you were coming to this hotel?"
Nell shook her head. "No. Wait. Yes. I called your lawyer and left this phone number in case he needed to get in touch with me."
He swore softly and Nell realized how infrequently she'd heard him use that kind of language. Even words like damn or hell—they just weren't part of his normal working vocabulary.
He picked up her clothes and put them next to her on the bed. "I'll go into the bathroom while you get dressed. And then we have to get out of here. Fast."
Nell quickly pulled on her shirt and slipped into her jeans before he'd even closed the bathroom door. "Billy, wait! You honestly think that whoever killed Jake is somehow privileged to your Navy lawyer's phone messages? Doesn't that sound just a little paranoid...?"
He pulled open the bathroom door and looked at her. He was dressed entirely in black. Black fatigues, black boots, black turtleneck, black winter jacket. Underneath the jacket he was wearing what looked to be some kind of equipment vest—also black. His preference for wearing black had nothing to do with fashion, she realized. He was dressed to blend with the shadows of the night.
"Here's what we know about the man we're after,"
Crash told her. "We believe him to be a U.S. Navy commander with a lot of connections. Whether he's that or not, we do know for certain that... We. God, listen to me." His voice shook. "I'm talking as if Jake is still alive."
He swiftly turned away from her, and for a minute Nell was certain that he was going to put his fist through the bathroom door. Instead he stopped himself, and slowly, carefully laid the palm of his hand against the wood instead. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was steady.
“I know for sure that this son of a bitch has got something to hide, something he was afraid Jake was about to uncover. And that something—whatever it is—is so important to him, he'd risk his eternal soul to keep it secret. He had Jake killed, and set me up to take the fall. Whoever he is, he's powerful enough to falsify the results of those ballistic tests and believe me, that couldn't have been easy to do." Crash turned to face her. "Since he's already killed once, I wouldn't put it past him to decide that it'd be easier to kill you than to do whatever he'd had to do to fake those test results all over again. So, yes, it sounds paranoid, but I can't assume that someone that powerful won't have access to the information coming into and out of Captain Franklin's law office."
His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and the severe style emphasized his high cheekbones, making his face look starkly handsome. And his eyes... The burning intensity in those eyes had haunted her dreams.
"Come on, Nell," he said softly as her silence stretched on. "Don't quit believing in me now."
As crazy as his theory was, it was clear that he believed it.
"You didn't come here to ask me to help you," Nell realized. "You came because you think / need your help."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to answer.
"What if I said I didn't want your help?" she asked.
It was clear from the look on his face that he knew where she was going. She was revisiting the words he'd said to her. 'This is different."
"No, it's not. We both think the other needs saving." Nell crossed her arms. "You want to save me? You better be ready to let me help save you."
"Maybe we can argue about this in the car."
She nodded, feeling lighter in spirit than she had in a long time. He may not have written. He may not have called. But he'd put in an appearance when he thought her life was in danger. Despite everything he'd said and done, he cared—he was still her friend.
Friend, she repeated to herself firmly. He'd jumped back as if her touch had burned him. It was clear that he had no intention of letting their relationship move past the friendship stage ever again. And that was good because she felt that way, too. She had absolutely no intention of making the same mistake twice.
"I'll put on my boots, and we can go." She turned back to look at him. "Do we have a destination in mind?"
"I'll tell you in the car."
A loud knock sounded on the hotel-room door, and Nell jumped. She hadn't seen Crash move, but suddenly he had a gun in his hand. He motioned for her to be silent, and to back away from the door.
Whoever was out there knocked again. "Room service. I have complimentary hors d'oeuvres and a bottle of nonalcoholic Chablis for Ms. Burns."
Crash moved back toward her and spoke almost silently into her ear.
"Tell him to leave it outside the door. Tell him you're just about to take a shower. Then get under the bed, do you understand?"
She nodded, unable to pull her eyes away from his gun. It was enormous and deadly-looking. This was the closest she'd ever come to that kind of weapon. And it was amazing in more than one way—despite the fact that Crash was the subject of the biggest manhunt of the decade, he'd somehow managed to arm himself.
He was holding her arm, and he gave her a quick squeeze before he released her. He moved quickly around the room, turning off all the lights that he'd turned on earlier.
Nell cleared her throat, raising her voice so that the person on the other side of the door could hear her. "I'm sorry, you caught me at a bad time. I'm just about to step into the shower. Can you leave it outside the door?"
"Will do," the voice cheerfully replied. "Have a good evening."
Crash motioned for her to move. As she slid underneath the bed, she saw him go to into the bathroom and heard the sound of the shower going on.
It all seemed kind of silly. The person who'd knocked on the door was probably a room-service waiter, just as he'd said.
She lifted the dust ruffle and saw Crash come back out of the bathroom. He sure didn't seem to think it was at all silly. He stood in the shadows, out of sight of the door, his gun held at the ready. Holding the gun that way, with his mouth set in equally grim resolve, he looked incredibly dangerous.
Crash had told her once that she didn't really know him, that he had only let her see a small, very whitewashed part of him.
Nell had a feeling that if she was wrong and there really was someone outside her door who wanted to hurt her, in the next few minutes she was going to get a good look at the other side of Crash. She was going to see the Navy SEAL in action.
And then she saw the door to her room open. The sound of the bolt being drawn back was drowned out by the noise from the shower. The bathroom door was ajar, and in the light that came through it, she saw a man come into the room.
He wasn't carrying a plate of cheese or a bottle of wine. Instead, he held a gun like Crash's.
Nell's heart was pounding. Crash had been right. This man had come here to kill her.
The intruder gently closed the door behind him, careful not to make any noise.
He was smaller than Crash, more wiry than Crash, and he had less hair on the top of his head than Crash.
But his gun looked just as deadly.
As Nell watched, he pushed open the bathroom door.
That was when Crash moved. One moment he was in the shadows, and the next he was almost on top of the man, his gun pressed against the back of his head. Even his voice sounded different—harsher, rougher. "Drop it."
The man froze but only for
a second.
Crash knew when the man didn't instantly drop his weapon that this guy was not going to go down easily. The gunman's hesitation only lasted a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Crash to anticipate his next move.
He was, rightly, calling Crash's bluff. It didn't take the brain of a rocket scientist to figure out that, at this point, this gunman was the only potential link Crash had to the mysterious commander. The only real reason Crash had to shoot this man was to protect Nell.
The gunman, on the other hand, had no reason whatsoever not to shoot Crash.
But Crash was a nanosecond ahead of him. He hit the man hard on the side of the head with the barrel of his weapon, even as he disarmed him with a well-placed kick.
The man's handgun hit the door frame and bounced back, skittering across the rug and into the center of the room.
The blow to the head that Crash had delivered would have taken damn near anyone else in the world down, and down hard, but this guy wasn't about to call it a day.
Pain exploded as the gunman smashed his fist back into Crash's face and elbowed him hard in the ribs. The man tucked his chin against his chest, bending over in an attempt to throw the SEAL over his shoulder. But pain or no pain, Crash anticipated that move, too, and instead, the gunman hit the floor.
But he went down willingly, diving out into the room, going for his weapon.
The gun wasn't there.
Crash silently blessed Nell as he leapt on top of the man. The bastard fought as if he was possessed by the devil, but Crash would have taken on Satan himself in order to keep Nell safe. He hit the man again and again and again until finally, finally he delivered a knockout punch and the son of a bitch sagged.
Searching the gunman quickly, Crash came up with a smaller automatic and a large combat knife. Both weapons had been securely holstered and—luckily for him—totally unreachable during the fight.
He looked up to see Nell peeking out from underneath the bed.
"Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes wide. "Oh, God, you're bleeding."
His cheek had been cut by the fancy ring the gunman wore on his pinky finger. Crash used the back of his hand to blot it "I'm fine," he said. A little scrape like that didn't matter. Nor was the bruise he was going to get along his ribs even worth mentioning.
He'd hurt when he laughed for the next few days.
But since he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed, he didn't think that would be much of a problem.
Crash pulled the man's wallet from the back pocket of his pants. There was a driver's license inside, along with several suspiciously new-looking credit cards. There were no papers, no receipts, no photos of child or wife, no little scraps of life.
"Who is he?"
"He's currently going by the name Sheldon Sarkowski," he told her. "But that's not his real name."
"It's not?" She began inching out from her hiding place, gingerly pushing Sheldon's handgun in front of her.
"Nope. He's a pro. He probably doesn't even remember his real name anymore." Crash took the weapon, pulled out the clip and stored both pieces in his vest, along with the other weapons he'd taken from the gunman.
"What are we going to do with him?"
"We're going to tie him up and take him with us. I have a question or two to ask him when he wakes up."
Nell had climbed to her feet, but then backed up so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She was so pale, she looked almost gray.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "We've got to get out of here right now before this guy's backup comes to see what's taking him so long. Are you going to be able to walk?"
"Yeah, I'm just...getting used to the idea that someone named Sheldon came in here to kill me."
Crash stood up. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Nell. I swear, I'll keep you safe if it's the last thing I do."
Nell gazed up at him. "I believe you," she told him.
Chapter 12
“What exactly are we going to do with the guy in the trunk?" Nell laughed in disbelief as she turned slightly in her seat to face Crash. "I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe we've actually got a guy in the trunk. Isn't that very uncomfortable for him?"
Crash glanced at her. "That's his tough luck. He should've thought of that before he broke into your hotel room to kill you."
"Good point." Nell was silent for a moment, staring out the windshield at the stars. She looked over at Crash again. "So where are we going?"
"To California."
"By car?"
He glanced at her again. "They'll be looking for me at all the airports."
"Of course. I'm sorry. I..." Nell shook her head. "How long is it going to take us to get there?"
“Depends on how many times we stop to sleep. We've got to stop at least once so that I can question Sarkowski."
At least once. He wasn't kidding. They were going to drive all the way from the District of Columbia to California and they were quite possibly going to stop to sleep only once.
The car was luxurious. It was compact, but the seats were covered with soft leather that would be comfortable for sleeping.
The back seat was big enough for her to curl up on. Currently, it was covered by several gym bags, a suitcase and what looked to be a laptop computer case.
"Where did you get all this stuff?" she asked. "This car?"
"The car belongs to a Navy officer who's doing a six month tour on an aircraft carrier. I liberated it from storage. Same with the gear."
Liberated was just a fancy word for stole.
"I have every intention of returning everything," he told her, as if he knew what she was thinking. "Except maybe the bullets and some of the explosives."
Explosives? Bullets? Nell changed the subject.
"So what's in California?" she asked. "And where in California are we going? It's a pretty big state."
He gave her another glance before turning his attention back to the road. He turned on the radio to a classic rock station, adjusting the controls so that the signal only went to the speakers in the back. "In case Sarkowski wakes up," he explained. "I don't want him to bored."
What he really didn't want was for the man who was tied up in the trunk to regain consciousness and overhear their conversation.
Nell waited for him to answer her question, but one mile rolled by and then two, and he still didn't speak.
"Oh, please," she said, exasperated. "We're not going to play this game again, are we? I ask you a question and you don't answer it. Can't you do something different for a change? Like tell me the truth about what's going on?"
It was starting to rain, and Crash put on the windshield wipers. He glanced at her again, but he didn't say a word.
"Because if we're going to play that old, dull game," Nell continued, "you'd better get off at the next exit. In fact, if you don't tell me everything, and I mean everything, starting from what happened at Jake's house, you can just pull over and let me out right now."
"I'm sorry," Crash said quietly. "I wasn't purposely not answering you. I was just thinking that..." He hesitated.
"Your apology will go a whole lot further if you actually finish that sentence."
"I was thinking that as a SEAL, I can't talk about any of this." He glanced at her again. His eyes looked almost silver in the darkness, his face shadowed and mysterious. "But I'm not a SEAL anymore."
Crash had been stripped of his commission, his pride, his very soul. There was a very strong chance that he was going to lose his life as well, finding and taking down the mysterious commander.
The truth was, he was prepared to die, if necessary. Most of what he'd already lost was more valuable to him than his life.
But if he was going to die, he wanted someone to know the whole story. He wanted someone to know what had really happened.
And he knew he could trust Nell.
“You already know that I do—did—special assignments for Jake," he said.
"Yeah." Ne
ll nodded. "But I'm not really sure what that entailed."
"Jake would send me a coded file, usually electronically.
These files were specially programmed so they couldn't be copied, and they were designed to self-delete after a very short time, so there'd be no information trail."
Crash could feel her watching him. She was all but holding her breath, waiting for him to continue. With the exception of that one time he'd told her the story of how Daisy had pulled him out of summer camp, he knew she'd never heard him string together so many sentences.
“The file would contain information about a situation that needed checking into, or correcting or...some other type of...revision, shall we say," he continued. "It would include a mission objective as well as recommended courses of action. Sometimes the objective was simply to gather more information. Sometimes it was more... complicated. But when I was out in the real world, working the op, my team and I—and Jake usually only assigned two or three other SEALs to work with me—we were on our own.
“Anyway, Jake sent me an encoded file on the morning he was shot. I had just flown in to D.C. from California that same day. I was coming home after spending nearly six straight months out of the country. Usually the first thing I do when I get stateside is take a few days of leave— get a haircut and go out to the farm to see Jake and Daisy." He caught himself and shook his head. "Just Jake, now. But when I arrived at the base, Captain Lovett called me into his office and told me that he was organizing a special team. He said he'd received orders to go out to the farm and provide additional security. He said the admiral had been receiving death threats. And he asked if I wanted to be part of this special security team."
"Of course you said yes."
Crash nodded. “I tried calling the farm as soon as I left Lovett's office, but I couldn't get through. And then I didn't have time to do much more than organize my gear before I had to meet Lovett and the other members of the team."
It had been lightly raining that night, too.
He glanced at Nell and cleared his throat. "When I got to the chopper—our means of transport out to the farm— there were three men there I'd never seen before. I was tired. I hadn't slept in a full forty-eight hours, so I passed my suspicions off as fatigue-induced paranoia. Lovett knew these men, and he seemed to know them well. I figured everything was kosher." He paused. "I figured wrong."
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