by CW Browning
Hawk blocked a blow aimed at his head easily and countered with one to his opponent’s midsection, doubling him over with a grunt. Grabbing him by his neck, Hawk forced him upright and was about to land another blow to his face when the killer blocked his fist and landed a hit of his own to his abdomen. Damon grunted and blocked a follow-up hit before grabbing one of the man's wrists and twisting his arm around and up behind his back at an odd angle. Using the twisted arm as a steering bar, Hawk swung him around slammed him into the wall face first, wrenching the arm up higher and watching as the killer flinched in pain. Stepping close, Hawk leaned his face down close to his ear.
“You picked the wrong day to come calling,” he hissed.
“All I'm saying is that I don't know how I feel about the ethical position we now find ourselves in,” Stephanie muttered, watching as Michael finished hammering a piece of wood to the front door jam.
After examining the dead bolt and finding it still intact, Michael had disappeared into John's bedroom, returning with a slat of wood he took from one of the shelves in the closet. John produced a toolbox and, between the two of them, they managed to get the replacement wood pared down to fit along the edge of the door jam, temporarily fixing the door so that it would lock securely until repairmen could be sent for.
“I'm not sure that we're actually in an ethical position,” John retorted from the kitchen. He emerged with three beers, handing her one as he passed. “We don't actually know what he's doing to him in there,” he added over his shoulder, handing a beer to Michael.
Michael accepted it with thanks and stepped back from the door. He unscrewed the lid to the bottle and took a sip before setting it down and going back to the door. He closed it, locked it, and pulled hard. The wood held.
“I think that'll work until someone can get out here to fix it,” Michael announced, leaving the door locked and picking up his beer again.
“Well, we know that Damon forced him into the bathroom forty minutes ago and we haven't heard anything since, except vomiting at regular intervals,” Stephanie snapped, ignoring Michael. “What do you think is going on in there?”
“Maybe Damon is being a good Samaritan and holding his head,” John answered with a grin.
Stephanie rolled her eyes and sipped the cold beer. Clearly, she was the only one in the room who felt uncomfortable with what was undoubtedly transpiring down the hall and behind the locked bathroom door. Even Michael seemed content to turn a blind eye.
“Don't worry,” Michael smiled at her as he stepped past her on his way to the recliner. “He might still be alive when they come out.”
“It doesn't bother you at all?” Stephanie demanded, turning on the arm of the couch to face them. “Don't you want to know what's going on in there?”
“I think I'd rather not,” Michael answered, settling into the recliner. “If I don't see it, I can't testify to it. That's something you should know all about,” he added pointedly and Stephanie had the grace to flush red.
“I was protecting a friend,” she muttered defensively.
“I know you were,” Michael said gently. “While we're on the subject, you both can stop being so careful about not using her real name. I know the truth.” Stephanie and John looked at him, startled, and he nodded briefly. “I promised Dave I'd take care of her. Her identity is safe.”
“I wanted to tell you in your office that morning,” Stephanie told him. “But I had to protect her.”
“I understand.”
“My guess is that's Damon's goal as well, right now,” John remarked, sinking onto the couch next to her. “He's trying to protect her as well. That man was sent to kill Alina.”
“I know.” Stephanie drank some more and pursed her lips. “He would have killed us too.”
“He certainly would have tried,” John agreed, sipping his beer. They were silent for a moment, considering that.
“Why did we all just stand back and let Damon handle it?” Stephanie asked suddenly, looking at the other two.
“It all happened too fast to do much else,” Michael answered with a shrug. “Besides, I think he needed the exercise. He's been like a caged animal ever since I met him in Peru,” he added thoughtfully.
“What was he doing in Peru?” John demanded.
“Don't know,” Michael answered with a shrug. “He never said.”
“It doesn't make any sense,” Stephanie said with a frown. “He was supposed to be helping Alina, and he clearly still is or you wouldn't be here now.”
Michael was opening his mouth to respond when they all heard the bathroom door open and a single pair of footsteps come out. Conversation came to an abrupt halt as three pairs of eyes turned to the hallway, waiting. When Hawk stepped into the living room a second later, he found all three of them staring at him. His lips twitched as he returned their stare.
“Where is he?” Stephanie was the first one to break the silence, standing up and looking past him to the empty hallway.
“In the bathtub,” Hawk answered calmly.
“Is he alive?” Stephanie demanded, her eyes meeting his. She noticed that those eyes had returned to their normal dark blue, and a glint of amusement leapt into them as she stared at him.
“Of course he is,” Damon replied. Barely.
“Unconscious?” John asked.
“For now.” Damon went into the kitchen. He emerged a moment later with a bottle of water to find all three of them staring at him again. “What?”
“What did you find out?” Michael asked, grinning at the speechlessness of the other two.
“Regina's leaving on a plane tonight at nine-thirty. She's flying out of Shannon Airfield to Miami and, from there, to the Virgin Islands,” Damon answered, sipping the water.
“Once she gets to the Islands, she'll be out of reach,” John said. “She'll disappear.”
“I don't think we have to worry about her getting to Miami, let alone the Islands,” Stephanie said slowly, watching Damon's face. He met her gaze and smiled slightly.
“Regina thinks Viper was here,” he told her. “She thinks she's won.”
“Won't she wait for confirmation of that?” Michael asked from his recliner.
“She'll get confirmation,” Damon held up a smartphone, “courtesy of our unconscious killer.”
“Nice.” Michael grinned. “Well played.”
“I'll give Viper every advantage I can,” Hawk answered softly.
“How do we know Alina knows about the flight plans?” John asked.
“She knows,” Michael murmured. “Blake knew Regina was getting ready to run. Viper would have been a few steps ahead of him.”
“Have you heard from Blake recently?” Damon asked, perching on the other arm of the couch.
“No.” Michael pulled out his phone. “That reminds me, I have to call Chris and have him check Viper's file. I need to know where she was on these dates Blake sent me.”
“Don't bother.” Damon stopped him. “She wasn't in the country for any of them.”
“How do you know?” Michael asked, pausing and glancing at him with sharp eyes.
“The first time Viper set foot stateside was three months ago,” Damon answered, sipping his water. “Before that, she was in South America for two years.”
“You can prove it?” Michael demanded. Damon smiled slightly.
“Our agency can,” he murmured. “In the meantime, I think it's a safe bet that the smoking gun belongs to one of Frankie Solitto's triggermen.”
“Solitto!” Both John and Stephanie exclaimed together.
Damon glanced at them, his eyes dancing.
“Didn't I mention that before?” he asked innocently.
“No!” Stephanie retorted. “What the hell does Frankie have to do with all of this?”
“I think we might not want to know,” John murmured tiredly. “He seems to be popping up a lot lately. Last time he did, we didn't make out so well.”
“That was my thought too, when Blake said he h
ad the gun,” Michael told Damon, nodding in agreement. “But how did Viper get it?”
“One guess,” Damon answered with a grin.
“Why would Frankie hand Alina the gun that would incriminate one of his own?” Stephanie demanded. “That makes no sense.”
“It does if he's afraid of her,” Damon said softly.
“You think that's what happened?” Stephanie asked as John whistled softly.
“I think Frankie's keeping himself on Viper's good side,” Damon said. “Let's just leave it at that.”
“I'll call Blake now and tell him she's in the clear on the cold cases,” Michael said. “You're sure about this?”
“I'm sure,” Damon replied. Michael nodded and hit speed dial on his phone. “While you're at it, tell him to stop watching Regina,” Damon added. Michael looked at him sharply.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Viper will have her well-covered. No need to risk Blake running into Viper's nest and startling the target,” Damon answered, capping his water and standing up. “And, no offense, but too many of you Feds know what she looks like now. Her anonymity is already in shreds. Let's not make it any worse than it has to be.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blake squinted against the afternoon sun and watched as another press truck rolled into the hospital parking lot. He had been waiting within view of the gates when Regina's vehicle had pulled out earlier, only to turn right around and go back in. A few moments later, an ambulance came flying by and through the gates. Tuning to the scanner, he heard that the Vice President had collapsed a few minutes before the ambulance re-emerged with lights flashing, surrounded by the secret service. Now, he was sitting outside the hospital, sweltering in the afternoon heat, watching as the press gathered outside to hypothesize on what had happened to the Vice President. It was all over the news, and Blake knew that the White House press team was already inside the hospital.
Glancing at his watch, Blake was surprised to see that it was already after four o'clock. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since early morning, and Blake frowned tiredly. He was hot, tired and hungry. The last thing he wanted to do was sit outside a hospital and watch the circus of the press feed the machine that paid them. When his phone rang, he reached for it eagerly.
“Tell me good news,” he answered, leaning his head back on his headrest.
“Viper was out of the country on the dates you sent me. I'm told her agency will be able to verify it,” Michael told him. Blake smiled.
“Wonderful,” he murmured. “She's in the clear then. Any ideas on the origin of the smoking gun?”
“You're not going to like it,” Michael warned.
“I don't like any of this. What's your point?” Blake retorted.
“Frankie Solitto.”
“You're right. I don't like it,” Blake muttered, then after a moment, he roared, “What the hell does the Jersey Mob have to do with this?!”
“I'll explain later,” Michael laughed. “Trust me. It's worth the wait.”
“It better be!” Blake exclaimed. “I'll bring the vodka.”
“Deal,” Michael answered promptly. “Oh, and you can knock off the rat detail,” Michael told him. Blake lifted his head, his spirits lifting.
“Really?” he asked. “What happened?”
“We know where she's headed,” Michael answered. “I don't want to run the risk of you being seen and tipping her off. She's leaving tonight on a plane to Miami.”
“I knew it!” Blake exclaimed in satisfaction. “I told you she was getting ready to run. How did you find out?”
“She sent a hit man after Stephanie Walker. We were able to intercept him.”
“Is he still breathing?” Blake demanded.
There was a slight chuckle on the end of the phone.
“Barely,” Michael replied. “Where are you now?”
“Outside the hospital,” Blake's smile faded. “Alex Ludmere collapsed at his house a few hours ago.”
“What!?” Michael bellowed.
“Regina went to see him around him lunchtime. As soon as she left, he collapsed,” Blake told him. “They haven't released an official statement yet, but they will soon. Apparently, he was sitting up and talking when they hustled him into the ambulance, so it can't be too serious.”
“Regina is there with him?” Michael asked after a moment.
“For now.” Blake yawned. “You really want me to just leave?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “I'll keep you updated.”
“Are you headed back from your sight-seeing tour yet?” Blake asked, starting the engine. He hit the button to roll up his windows and cranked up the air conditioner.
“In a little bit.”
“I'm assuming Regina will not make her flight to Miami?” Blake prompted when there was a long silence and no more information forthcoming. Michael chuckled.
“I'd say that's a safe bet,” he murmured. “I'll call you when I have news.”
“I'll be waiting.”
Blake hung up and dropped the phone onto the seat next to him, sitting for a moment with the air blowing full-blast on his face. Frankie Solitto??? How had the head of the Jersey mob become involved in this mess? And, more to the point, how had Viper ended up with the gun?
Shaking his head, Blake put the car in gear and eased out of his parking spot. He turned toward the exit of the hospital, unaware of the pair of sparkling green eyes watching his exit with interest. Viper watched him pull out into traffic before turning and making her way through the throng of press and into the hospital.
“You're letting him go?” Hawk demanded, staring at Michael incredulously.
“I have no reason to detain him,” Michael retorted with a shrug. “I can't even get him on assaulting a federal officer, thanks to you.”
“If I'd known that's all you wanted, I would have thrown him your way,” Damon shot back. Michael grinned at him.
“No, you wouldn't,” he said. “You were enjoying yourself too much.”
Damon paused in the act of slipping his laptop back into his bag and grinned reluctantly. He glanced at Michael, leaning against the wall in the dining room.
“I won't deny that,” he admitted. “You're leaving him free to continue killing people for money. You know that.”
“That's ironic coming from you,” Michael murmured.
“Ah, but I get paid by my government to kill very bad people who go bump in the night and scare all the good little boys and girls,” Damon retorted, his lips twisting briefly.
Michael watched him thoughtfully, wondering if the trace of self-derision in Damon's voice was aimed at himself or his government. He thought it might be a little bit of both, but Damon's face was giving nothing away.
“Either I let him go now or a judge lets him go in a few days,” Michael said. “I don't deny it kills me to do it, but it's better than wasting time and raising questions as to what happened to him. It's times like these, I hope that Karma does exist, and what he does comes back on him.”
“I'm still trying to figure out why you get to make that decision,” Stephanie said, coming into the dining room carrying a gun in a holster.
“I'm the ranking federal agent here. You and John are technically on vacation, and you're MIA to boot,” Michael informed her with a wink. “That's why I get to make that decision.”
“That rationalization is seriously flawed,” Stephanie retorted. “When I figure out how, I'll let you know.”
She turned to Damon and handed him the holster, her eyes meeting his.
“Give this back to Viper for me,” she told him.
Damon straightened up and reached out to take the holster, pulling out the modified Glock that Alina gave Stephanie three months ago to use as a back-up. It was a gun he knew well. Alina had modified it herself, with the assistance of the armorer, while they were still at the training facility together. Smiling slightly at the memory, he slid it back into the holster and handed it back to S
tephanie.
“You can give it to her yourself,” he told her, his blue eyes glinting as they met hers. “You'll see her again.”
Stephanie took the gun back and smiled. She was strangely comforted by the assurance in Damon's voice. The chilling killer was gone and the man she had gotten to know was back, making her wonder if he ever really disappeared.
“Do we know or care that our visitor is creeping out the front door?” John called from the living room.
Michael leaned back so that he could see the front door. He was just in time to see the back of a man disappearing out the door silently. Michael glanced back at Damon.
“You took his weapon, right?” he asked.
“Of course.” Hawk zipped up his bag and picked it up, carrying it out of the dining room and dropping it behind the couch. “Captain America over there made the executive decision to let our visitor go,” he told John.
John looked up from the iPad in his hands.
“Typical,” he muttered. “I was all for locking him in the bathroom and leaving him there.”
Damon glanced at him and blue eyes met blue in a sudden moment of understanding. Hawk nodded slightly. John had been every bit as enraged as he was himself when that pillow blew apart in his hand. Damon saw him start forward toward the door before stopping himself, and Hawk had seen the look of satisfaction in John's face when he stood over the hit man, waiting for him to get up and fight. Now, he realized that John was just as emotionally invested in Alina as he was himself. But, while John still cared for the Jersey girl from long ago, Damon was in love with the complex woman she had become.
“I would have supported that,” Hawk murmured, his lips twitching.
“Is the bathroom clean, at least?” John asked, lowering his voice and glancing at Stephanie. “She has a thing about the ethics of it all. It would probably be best for her not to see any blood.”
“I didn't have to draw blood,” Damon told him simply. “There are other ways.”
“Good.” John went back to his iPad. “Did you see this yet?”