by CW Browning
“Blake didn't say anything about seeing anyone else,” Michael said.
The look he received made him feel like a schoolboy who just announced that Santa Claus was real.
“He won't see her,” Damon said simply.
Michael watched as his companion turned his attention back out the window. The engines kicked up more as the jet began moving down the runway, picking up speed rapidly. Michael rested his head on the headrest as he was pressed back into the seat, his eyes resting on Damon's face. He wondered who this man was, that he could arrange chopper transport from Peru to Columbia and a private jet from Bogotá to Philly in less than half an hour. Was this was who Alina had become? Did she have private pilots on speed dial as well? Michael's lips twitched. And, would she fly the helicopter herself?
Just as quickly as the flash of amusement came, it was replaced with irritation. Viper was a government assassin with a life that he didn't want to know about, and Alina was Dave's kid sister whom he had promised to look after and was sexy as hell. Michael still couldn't reconcile the two in his head. He watched Damon lean his head back on his seat, his eyes still fixed out the window, as the wheels left the tarmac and the jet lifted effortlessly into the air. Michael's stomach dropped as they left solid ground behind and arched up into the clouds. Damon was more a part of Viper's life than he could ever be. He knew more about the way she worked and the way she thought, and Michael suspected that Damon was closer to Alina than anyone. He frowned slightly at the thought.
“You should get some sleep,” Damon spoke suddenly, his blue eyes catching Michael mid-stare.
“Are you going to sleep?” Michael asked.
“I have some work to do first,” Damon said, reaching down under the seat and pulling his laptop from his bag. “But you need to rest. You look half-dead and no amount of coffee will fix it. Sleep is the best weapon we have.”
Michael got the impression that Damon was repeating an axiom that he lived by religiously. He watched as he opened his laptop and powered it on before those deep blue eyes flicked to his face again. They glinted briefly with something resembling amusement.
“You're no good to me if you're too tired to fight.”
“You know more fighting means more beer,” Michael said and Damon grinned.
“Agreed.”
Michael reclined his seat back tiredly. Damon was right. He was flat exhausted, not having slept now for almost two days. He needed to sleep. He settled back, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.
Why had Ludmere met with a terrorist two years ago? It would have been before the election, while they were still campaigning as Presidential candidates. Why would he have taken time from the all-important campaign trail to go halfway around the world and meet with a known terrorist? Why would he have risked it?
Michael's eyes shifted to Hawk, typing away on his laptop. Hawk knew why, and so did Viper. They both knew secrets far above even his security level, but they weren't telling anyone. Michael realized with a start that he may never know why Alex had met with Johann two years ago. Hawk and Viper were bound by oaths of silence as strong as his own, and Michael had no doubt that they would stick to them if they didn't deem the information need-to-know.
As Michael's eyes slid shut out of pure exhaustion, his last waking thought was that it really didn't matter why. What mattered was that his Vice President and Regina Cummings were guilty of treason, and he had no idea how he was going to convince anyone of their guilt.
Blake unlocked the door to his condo and opened it, flipping on the light as he stepped into the small entryway. He yawned widely and kicked the door closed behind him before tossing his keys onto the hall stand inside the door. A large, brown and white speckled pit bull charged out of the living room, rearing himself up and planting his front paws on Blake's sternum. He barked once and Blake grinned, leaning his face down to be licked mercilessly.
“Hey Buddy,” he murmured, rubbing the dog's ears.
Buddy dropped down to all fours and stretched before turning to trot back into the living room. Blake locked the door and followed, switching on the lamp next to his favorite arm chair.
“I hope Martha came and took you out because I'm too tired,” he informed his pet. Buddy's answer was to jump onto the couch, circle once and plop down heavily with a big yawn. Blake grinned. “Exactly. I have time to shower, shave, and grab half an hour of sleep before I have to get back to relieve Anthony.”
Buddy responded to that statement by crossing his front paws and resting his head on them, his eyes gazing up at his master adoringly. Blake rubbed a hand through his hair and turned to go down the hallway, past the dining room and galley-style kitchen, to the master bedroom at the far end of the hallway. He was half-way down the hall before he stopped abruptly with a frown. Spinning around, he strode back to the dining room and flipped on the light.
Sitting on his dining table, right in the middle where he couldn't fail to miss it, was a wooden box.
Blake glanced around the dining room and back-tracked to the living room again. Buddy lifted his head as he entered the living room, watching as Blake looked around carefully. The windows were closed and locked, the shades and curtains drawn. Nothing was out of place and everything was quiet. He turned and went slowly through his home, checking the windows and finding them all locked securely. He went through the kitchen, guest room, guest bath, master bedroom and master bath. They were all empty of intruders and nothing was out of place.
Blake was scowling by the time he went back into the dining room to stare at the wooden box. A piece of white paper, torn off his memo pad in the living room, was in front of the box. He walked up to the table and glanced down at the note.
You looked a little sleepy tonight. Try alternating water with the coffee. It helps. Here's a little something that should perk you up. I think you'll find it helpful.
V
A swift, cold chill streaked down Blake's spine and he spun around, scanning the space behind him. No one was there. The chill was from the note, and the scrawled drawing of a snake next to the V.
Viper.
She had been here. In his house. With his dog!
Blake frowned and backed up to glance accusingly into the living room where Buddy was going back to sleep on the couch. Buddy never let anyone into the house without Blake there. Martha was the only exception. She had been coming to clean the house and take Buddy out since he was a wee puppy and he knew her well. Other than her, no one got through the door.
Except Viper.
Blake returned to the table with a frown. He reached into his pocket for the pair of latex gloves that he always carried with him. Pulling them on, he lifted the note and examined it with a frown. It was written on his own memo paper with his own pen. He recognized the tell-tale blots of ink. Dropping the note back onto the table, Blake turned his attention to the box. He lifted it carefully, testing the weight and moving it closer to him. He debated whether or not to open it, wondering if it was booby-trapped, but then shook his head impatiently. If Viper was going to try to kill him, she would have shot him earlier when she had obviously been watching him outside Regina's.
He opened the lid to the box. His mind registered the fact that it was a .45 Beretta as soon as he opened the lid and he stared at it, stunned. What did this mean? Was this her gun? Was this the gun that shot out the cameras in the parking garage?
Blake tilted his head, studying the pistol. It was an older model, two years old at least, and maybe more. He didn't picture Viper using an older gun like this. Perhaps as a backup, but not as her primary weapon. If everything Michael had told him was true, Blake imagined she would carry something newer as her primary weapon.
Was this the gun that shot Billy and Jason?
Blake flipped the lid to the box closed and went out into the living room to get some evidence bags from his work bag. Whichever gun it was, it was now evidence.
And Viper had handed it to him.
Alina finished transferring t
he final encrypted file and sat back on the couch. She stared at the big, empty fireplace and leaned her head back tiredly. Like many others in her profession, she had set up fail-safes and avenues of escape for herself. Unlike Hawk's friend Paul, she didn't have servers full of information on every job she had ever done, but she did have what she liked to call her “insurance agent.” It was a single, secure server that she had set up five years ago. It was untraceable, unhackable, and she was the only one who knew of its existence. She set it up in case she would ever have need of insurance to protect herself, in case anything like this ever happened.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, listening to the silence around her. She wondered what Hawk was doing. Had he moved on to his next assignment? Or was he taking a break, hiking in the Andes? Was he still in the city where she had left him? Alina doubted it. He would have heard by now of the price on his head. The mountains were his friend, just as they were hers, and he would have disappeared into them, waiting to hear what happened in Washington.
Once she took care of Regina, he would be safe again. He would go back to his life and she would be free to return to hers. She could get back to the life she had been living before any of the events in the past three months had happened. She could get back to normal.
Alina opened her eyes as a wave of crushing depression washed over her. Her mountain retreat that had proved to be such a healing haven for her was now part of the past. She couldn't go back there, and she had known that when she left. They knew about that place now. The people who lived there, trained there, and prayed there would be in danger if she ever went back. The sensei who had guided her through her healing process, teaching her how to keep her body and mind strong while her soul healed, would be put at risk. Alina would never allow that to happen.
She could return to her adopted city in Europe, buy a new apartment in a new section, and go back to her old life of work and constant travel. However, that life suddenly seemed cold and lonely to her. Alina remembered the nights spent alone and, while they hadn't bothered her then, now they filled her with an unfamiliar kind of dread.
She didn't want to be alone anymore.
She didn't want to go back to her isolated existence, surrounded by people yet knowing no one. Returning to Jersey three months ago had reminded her of what her life should be and used to be, filled with a few close and trusted friends, and moments of laughter and belonging. And emotion. Between her old friends and Hawk, Viper had learned to feel again. She didn't want to go back to the emotionless existence she led before.
Alina sat quietly, wondering if there was a possibility that she could change her life. She had purchased the house in Medford, buried in the pine barrens of New Jersey. Only five other people knew of it, four of whom she trusted and one of whom was dead. Would it be possible to shift her living arrangements and base herself out of New Jersey? To continue her work and still have some semblance of a normal life outside of it?
Viper frowned thoughtfully. Logistically it could be done. She would be further away from the location of most of her targets, but travel was nothing new to her and she would still have her apartments dotted throughout the world. The change wouldn't impact her effectiveness, and she would have a true retreat to come back to in between assignments. She would have a home, and for the first time in years, that thought didn't scare her. She would have a home and a few friends that she could trust. Alina stared into the fireplace, her mind shifting to a pair of dark blue eyes.
Hawk would always know where to find her.
Alina closed her laptop and stood up, turning to switch out the lights and go upstairs to bed. She firmly pushed all thoughts of Damon and his blue eyes out of her mind. She didn't have time to dwell on him and the strange mess of emotions that he evoked. If she decided to return to New Jersey permanently, then she would allow herself to explore the “maybes” and “what-ifs” of a possible relationship with Damon Miles. Right now, she had to focus on Regina Cummings.
And getting them all out of this god-awful mess Regina had started three months ago.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Stephanie came awake with a start. The room was pitch black and the apartment was silent, but something had awoken her. She sat up and listened intently to the silence, staring at the closed bedroom door. When there was no sound after a few seconds, she glanced at the phone, plugged into the charger on her bedside table next to her holstered 9mm Glock. Stephanie reached out and swiftly pulled her gun from the holster, swinging her legs out of bed and standing in the darkness. She heard John's bedroom door open and crossed to her door swiftly, opening it and looking out into the hallway. John was disappearing into the living room, his phone pressed to his ear. Stephanie followed him silently.
“Are you serious?” John was demanding as she stepped into the living room.
He turned and saw her, his eyes dropping to her gun. He smiled briefly in the darkness at the sight of it. Stephanie watched him curiously. Only two people had the number to the clean phones that Alina had given them.
“How reliable is the information?” John asked, standing in the middle of the living room, listening intently. After a moment, he sighed. “You don't need to come here. I think we can handle it,” he muttered.
Whatever the response was to that, it didn't make John happy. He scowled ferociously and the muscle in his jaw pulsed as he clamped his jaw shut. Stephanie had her answer as to which of the two people had called the secure phone. Only one of them had the knack of irritating John so swiftly.
“Fine.”
John hung up and tossed the phone onto the coffee table before turning to face Stephanie. His lips curved into a grin and he looked at her gun again.
“You expecting company?” he asked humorously.
“I didn't know what woke me up,” Stephanie retorted, setting the gun down on the end table. “Now I know it was your phone. What did Damon say?”
“We'll be having company,” John answered, sinking down onto the couch with a yawn and propping his bare feet onto the coffee table. Stephanie frowned and sat next to him. “You might want to keep that gun handy. Apparently, you had the right idea.”
“What happened?” Stephanie asked.
“He didn't say much.” John yawned again and rubbed his face. “The gist of it was that Alina's government file was released yesterday, and in it was a list of all her safe houses, this one included.”
Stephanie sat back on the couch, a chill running through her.
“So, the person who tried to kill me now knows where we are.”
John nodded and glanced at her.
“That's about it,” he answered. He watched as she stared straight-ahead, her lips pressed together slightly. “Are you worried?” he asked softly.
Stephanie glanced at him.
“I'd be a fool not to be,” she retorted. “They tried twice and failed. Alina was right. They won't stop until I'm dead.”
“Or until they are.”
“Did Damon say how much time we have?” Stephanie asked. John shook his head.
“No. He just landed in Philly and is coming straight here,” he told her. “He wants us to be on our guard.”
“Why isn't he with Alina?” Stephanie demanded.
John leaned his head back on the couch.
“I don't know. I didn't get the chance to ask,” he muttered.
Stephanie was silent as they both stared at the numbers illuminated on the cable box. 3:32am.
“I have two guns,” Stephanie finally broke the silence. “This one and Alina's back-up. How about you?”
“Two.”
They fell silent again, both listening to the silence around them. Going back to sleep was out of the question now.
“Damon sounded pretty sure of the threat?” Stephanie asked after a moment.
“He's coming here,” John retorted and Stephanie nodded. They both knew Damon wouldn't make the trip unless he was sure.
“I guess I'd better get dressed then.�
�
Stephanie stood up and John glanced at her t-shirt and boxer shorts with a grin.
“I kind of like the pj's,” he told her, standing with her.
Stephanie rolled her eyes and picked up her gun, starting down the hallway to her bedroom. She turned her head when she realized that John was right behind her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, stopping and facing him in the dark hallway.
John looked down at her, his face inches from hers.
“Coming with you,” he said, all traces of humor gone from his face. “Until this is over, I'm not leaving your side.”
“I think I can get dressed without you,” Stephanie retorted.
John shook his head slowly and that familiar twinkle came back into his eyes.
“But where would the fun be in that?” he murmured.
Stephanie huffed and turned to go into her bedroom, John close behind her.
“Sometimes I really do think you're still stuck in grade school,” she muttered.
Viper glanced at her watch and then lifted the binoculars to her eyes. She scanned the quiet street in front of Regina's house, pausing for a moment on the black Challenger parked halfway down. The sun was just starting to lighten the sky to a pale gray and the birds were starting to wake up, interrupting the silence occasionally with their song. Regina's house was still and quiet, but Alina knew that she was awake. Her cellphone had just received an incoming call.
Viper lowered her binoculars and turned to the small laptop next to her. She had hacked into Regina's cell carrier and set a patch on Regina's line before she left the cabin. Now, she ran a trace on the number that had just called Regina's cell phone. It was another cell phone and the GPS link placed it in Miami. Alina watched as the call time reached just over three minutes before it ended. She raised the binoculars again and waited, watching Regina's house. After a few minutes, a light flicked on in the hallway and then the light in the kitchen turned on. Viper glanced at her watch again. Just after five in the morning. Regina was getting an early start today.