by Debra Webb
The blast of heat washed over them, obliterating the car and, for a moment, the blizzard conditions. The pavement shook with the force of the car dropping back down to earth and the detached, analytic part of his brain wondered just how high it had blown.
He risked a glance toward the ball of fire. The luggage had been vaporized in the explosion. His clothes, his irreplaceable surprise for Casey and whatever Jo had packed for her little venture were long gone. Reactions and assessment had to wait for later. Right now, they needed to move. Easing his grip on Jo, he looked into her midnight eyes, and weighed the sincerity of the shock and terror he saw there.
He knew she could be a consummate actress; it went along with their line of work. Various scenarios cycled through his mind, all of them bleak. Was she the perp or the victim? Had this been an attempt on her life or his? Both? Maybe she’d changed her mind about killing him or maybe the timing came down to a faulty fuse or signal on the bomb?
He wanted answers, but survival was first and foremost. Going separate ways seemed like the most prudent solution in light of the current circumstances. But the phrase “keep your friends close and your enemies closer” kept nudging him. Was Jo a friend or enemy?
Uncertain, he made his decision based on their relationship prior to her role with the Initiative committee.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.” Snowflakes caught in her long eyelashes. “You?”
He gave a snort, but before he could answer, her eyes went wide and she flipped him onto his back. “Your jacket was on fire,” she explained.
Well, her quick thinking and the deep slush seeping through the fabric had put it out now. He made a mental note that her reflexes and physical ability seemed to be in perfect order. It wasn’t all that comforting considering his seemed to be a bit sluggish.
“Thanks.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, removed the battery and tossed both pieces into the fiery wreckage. “Give me yours.”
She scowled, but did the same with her own cell phone.
“Now let’s move. Stay low.”
“I know the protocol,” she snapped, anger clear in her eyes, intensifying the flags of color high in her cheeks.
The attitude was a good sign. Maybe. He just didn’t have enough facts to sort out the situation. “Prove it.”
“That car was rented in your name. I changed your reservation and picked it up for you days ago,” she answered before he could ask the obvious question. She held up a key fob with the logo of a different make. “My car is two rows that way.”
He nodded and motioned for her to lead. Again.
They moved quickly through the lot, but he knew anyone could be watching, waiting for the right opportunity to pick them both off.
How had the bomb been triggered? And who wanted him dead? There were a number of possible answers to both questions. He mentally narrowed the list to people who wanted to eliminate them both, but that left him plenty of names to consider. And only sprouted more questions as he wondered who knew they were both in the area.
When they reached her car, he noted the license plate and watched her use a compact from her purse to check the undercarriage for problems.
She nodded, convinced it was safe, and they climbed inside. He suspected she was holding her breath the same as he was as she turned the key in the ignition. When the engine came to life and they were still intact, he buckled his seat belt. The action had him thinking of Lucas, and wondering how best to alert his friend to the developing situation.
“What’s your plan?” He cranked up the heater and defrosters while she backed out of the parking space.
“Get out of Denver with all haste.”
He had the wet, singed clothes on his back, his wallet and quickly dwindling options. “I hope you have something a little more detailed in mind.” Her lips were pursed and quirked to the side, a sure sign she was thinking. “Go on, spill it.” Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d give him something he could work with. “You used to like having a sounding board.”
She peered up at the gray sky and he thought this time she might keep her theories to herself. “I’m wondering how you bribe Mother Nature?”
“Pardon me?”
“The storm almost took down your plane.”
“You saw the landing?”
She nodded. “The storm certainly gives an assassin the advantage since you’d be trapped here overnight.”
“Disadvantage,” he argued. “The storm traps the assassin, too.”
She slid a look his way as she merged onto the Interstate. “I’m not the assassin.”
He wanted to believe her. “Says the woman who dropped me off at a car rigged to explode.”
“Relax. I would have been beside you if I hadn’t been picking my way through the snow. It took me back to that night in Germany.”
Recalling the way she’d fiddled with the contents of her pockets, he reached across the seat and searched her.
Conditions were so bad, she had to keep both hands on the wheel and couldn’t counter his search, but she called him all kinds of names in the interim. He didn’t find a remote for the destroyed car, but his fingers closed on a small, flat disk sealed in a thick plastic envelope the size of a quarter.
“Not the assassin?” He held it up then snatched it back when she made a grab. The car swerved and a loud rumble growled around them as the tires rolled over the grooved pavement meant to alert a drifting driver.
“Not the assassin,” she insisted. “That is just a light sedative. I brought it along in case you weren’t inclined to cooperate.”
“Any other surprises planted on you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Yes, he would. Her sly smile wasn’t encouraging his trust but it was stirring other feelings he had no business allowing just now.
“Thomas, I know it looks bad,” she said, her tone quiet and serious. “But I am on your side.”
“I can’t even call in my people to assess the device,” he grumbled.
“But—”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Everyone I trust is at the top of a mountain.” Without a phone, he couldn’t immediately reach the offices in D.C. He leaned forward, trying to see anything through the storm. “A mountain I can’t even see. We should stop and buy a phone,” he added, spotting a bright neon sign for a superstore.
“Not just yet.”
He swiveled in his seat. “We’ve got a tail?”
“No. But I’d rather put the airport farther behind us before either one of us swipes a credit card.”
Thomas took it as a bad sign that he hadn’t been thinking about that. Sure, he’d flown out here for a wedding and left business to his deputy director, Emmett Holt, but that didn’t give him the luxury of being rattled by events.
“What the hell does the Initiative committee want with me that couldn’t wait until Monday?”
“I can’t tell you right this minute.”
“Jo—” He couldn’t finish the threat. She jerked the wheel right and nearly lost control of the car in an effort to get to the exit ramp.
“Tail?”
“Yes.” She laid on the horn and blew through the light at the end of the ramp. “There’s a gun taped under your seat.”
She pulled a hard left at the next corner and, with him reaching for the gun, his head rapped the door. On a curse, he powered down the window. Maybe the blast of cold air would have the added benefit of an ice pack.
“Stay in the left lane,” he ordered. Thankfully traffic was sparse with the storm keeping most sane people safe inside. “Let him get closer.”
“Are you nuts?”
“I’m open to better ideas.” When she slowed down, he assumed she didn’t have another suggestion.
The car pulled up beside them. The heavily tinted glass made it impossible to identify the driver, but the dark, menacing barrel of the handgun poking out of the back window made the intent clear enoug
h.
He was ready to shoot out the front tire when Jo muscled the SUV into a spin. Like a boxer going for the knockout punch, she used her bigger vehicle against the smaller sedan, connecting and driving the vehicle into a traffic light post. The impact crumpled the hood of the sedan and left them disabled in the roadway.
She shifted into Reverse and for a split second he thought she intended to ram the other car again, but she turned the steering wheel and sped away.
In the side mirror he caught the flash of a gun muzzle and braced for impact, but the bullets went high and wide.
They were alone as she turned the corner and revved the engine to make the next light. Finally they were back on the Interstate and going westbound this time. They were headed into the storm, but maybe conditions would improve as they worked their way up the mountain while the storm rolled east and out over Denver.
Chapter Four
5:55 p.m.
Jason wasn’t the first on the scene of the explosion, but he was the first who had any idea what he was looking at. He flashed his badge and picked up what clues were available to the trained observer. The few people in the area of the explosion didn’t have much useful information. One man noticed a cab leaving the row at about the same time. He thought the backseat had been empty.
No one saw a man or woman leaving the scene, but Jason knew Director Casey wouldn’t have advertised his escape. And the snowfall, while melted away by the heat of the explosion, was coming down fast enough to blur any footprints leading away from the area.
Jason searched anyway. He looked at several empty spaces, making notes of the locations in case he could get a look at the video surveillance.
Studying the lot, he turned a full circle. Whoever had parked the car had done so with careful thought to the cameras and shuttle stops. That smacked of someone organized like DeRossi.
He found the license plate a couple rows away where it was still warm enough to melt the snow trying to cover it. He didn’t touch it, just placed a call to the Mission Recovery analyst on duty and asked her to run the information. Within moments he learned the car was registered to a rental car agency and had been rented in Director Casey’s name. Two days ago.
DeRossi.
Director Casey might have made the reservation, but no way he’d picked it up. Two days ago, the director had been in D.C. Unsure how Agent DeRossi had managed this with him on her tail, he made a note to ask her as soon as he had her cornered. And he would get her cornered.
Holt was going to hang him out to dry when word got back that Jason had misplaced the director. He was alive, that much was clear, but for how long? Out of options and with the wail of more sirens closing in, Jason stalked back to his car.
He opened the door and was about to slide behind the wheel when another flash of color caught his eye. Distinctive red hair was swept back into a high bun. She might have been another traveler distracted by the commotion, but something in the way she was looking over the scene put his instincts on alert.
When she looked his way, he recognized her as the woman Holt asked him to watch out for. Even without the heads up, he would have known she was involved. It was the sly, satisfied tilt of her mouth that didn’t match the shock of the innocent bystanders. Was she the bomb builder? The trigger man—woman? He resisted the urge to walk over and confront her directly.
Instead, he went back and exchanged information with the officers on scene, giving her a chance to make an exit so he could follow her. It was a long shot, but if she didn’t lead him to DeRossi, maybe she’d lead him to the people behind the plan to blow up Director Casey’s car.
Without a cap or scarf, she obviously wasn’t trying to blend in. Hair like hers would be memorable to the dullest of eyewitnesses. He was grateful for her confidence, as that striking hair made it easy to keep her in his periphery with the rest of the world muted by blowing snow. Did she know, as he did, that Casey and DeRossi had escaped the trap?
When he saw her striding away, he quickly returned to his car, prepared to follow her until he had some answers. Choosing the lane closest to the building, he paid the parking fee and pulled through the gate, then stopped just behind the small building to wait.
It didn’t take long and once again her bold overconfidence made it easy. Alone in a boxy Jeep decades past its prime, she drove right by him.
He groaned when he spotted the temporary license plate and his hopes for a name and registration evaporated.
A little voice in his head told him this was too easy, she was practically daring him to follow. But she was a breadcrumb, and possibly the last good lead he’d get today. There was nothing to do but stay on her tail as she took the ramp and joined the sparse traffic traveling toward the mountains.
Fortunately her vehicle was distinctive enough he could fall back to the limits of visibility and still follow. There were several places she might be headed, but this was the most direct route to the area where Director Casey was supposed to be.
Observe and report might be his orders, but he reviewed his tactical options anyway as they inched along. He kept the radio on, listening for any update on the explosion at the airport. A report of a traffic tie-up on the east side of Denver distracted him. The reporter announced a hit-and-run combined with unconfirmed reports of gunfire.
Jason didn’t know the city well enough to attribute that event to his assignment or more localized violence. The roads were treacherous and even driving cautiously he could feel the tires sliding over patches of ice. Using the voice control on his phone, he contacted the analyst again to ask about the traffic report.
He heard the soft tap of fingers on a keyboard before the voice filled the car. “Traffic cameras confirm the report of a collision and it looks to me like there’s a muzzle flash.”
He asked for, and received an accurate description of the vehicles involved. “Did the police take anyone into custody?”
“Negative. Cameras show the SUV leaving the scene and two men exiting the disabled sedan.”
“Anything odd reported?”
“The two men in the sedan left the weapons behind. I can check with the lab about fingerprints, but it won’t be the priority with no victims.”
“Any chance of facial recognition on anyone from the traffic cams? License plates or registrations?”
“Possibly the driver of the SUV.” The soft sound of fingers on the keyboard was all he heard for a moment. “The rest were camera-shy and I don’t have enough to go on. Both vehicles are rentals and I can call you back when the records come through.”
“Do that. Please,” he added. “Is the SUV driver a man or woman?”
“Woman.”
DeRossi. “Any GPS signal on the SUV?”
“No.”
Jason stifled his exasperation. “The director didn’t happen to call in about this same accident, did he?”
“No word from him since he landed safely in Denver.”
Jason muttered an oath and thanked the analyst. “Let me know when you get a match on the driver.”
“Will do.”
“One more thing.” Jason gave the temporary tag on the Jeep. “I don’t expect the information to be accurate, so dig deeper than the first name that shows up.”
“You got it.”
When the call disconnected, he pounded his palm against the steering wheel. Of all the times to slip up. Losing DeRossi was the biggest mistake he’d made since becoming a Specialist.
He urged his car closer to the battered Jeep, determined to confirm how the sexy redhead fit in with DeRossi and the director, or if his instincts were all wrong and he was out here chasing wild geese through a blizzard.
Chapter Five
Clutching the steering wheel, Jo’s knuckles were as white as the snow outside and, despite the heat blasting from the vents, probably as cold.
She merged with the westbound traffic, praying they would make it to the cabin she’d rented before the police caught up with them. Living in a wired soci
ety made it difficult to operate under the radar. Training helped, as did the ultimate clearance level she’d earned by working oversight for the most covert government agencies.
After driving for a few miles encountering nothing more exciting than a snow plow, she tried to relax a fraction and sort out their options. When she trusted her voice again, she asked Thomas who and what he’d seen in the other car.
“A silencer.”
“Really?” Not much reason for a silencer in a car chase.
“It doesn’t make sense to me either.”
“Unless they planned to take you down at the airport.”
“I thought that was your job.”
She flexed her hands on the wheel, anything to ease the tension. “Is the wedding important to you?”
“You know it is.”
“Think what a crushing blow it would be for the bride if her uncle couldn’t make it because he was dead.”
She felt his hard stare. “When did Initiative launch an assassination division?”
“It’s not like we don’t have the resources,” she said, completely irritated with the bitterness she heard in his voice.
“I’m holding a gun and a sedative, Johara.”
“And I’m in the driver’s seat of a perfectly effective weapon, too, Thomas.” She jumped at his sudden bark of laughter. “How is that funny?”
“Not funny. Absurd.” He made a show of lowering the weapon, but she wasn’t sure where he’d hidden the sedative disk. “Whatever this is about, I can’t believe you’re ready to sacrifice yourself. Just level with me. I am completely out of patience.”
It was her turn to laugh. “As if you ever had any. You’ve never been anything less than ironclad.”
At one time she’d thought there’d been something underneath all that stoic determination and razor-sharp intelligence. Something closer to personal concern and compassion—maybe even something that could turn into love—but she’d been wrong.
Still, they had a history and more than that, her professional respect for him had never faltered. This investigation was nothing more than an elaborate attempt to discredit him. It had to be. He’d made some impossibly difficult choices in his career, but she would never believe he was a traitor. No matter what the anonymous informant said, if Thomas was here to sell a deadly virus, there would be a legal, big-picture reason for it.