Once his identification was found, the officer in charge called out, “It’s okay. He’s FBI.” The cops holstered their weapons but remained watchful. Several moved to assist Bartowski, gently easing her down as they assessed her wounds.
“Officer Bachman, sir,” said the officer in charge. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay here awhile.”
“I understand,” Vincent said and motioned Claudia to come to him. “Is the ambulance on the way?”
“It’s here now,” answered another officer. “The blonde’s in rough shape. The other one’s gone.”
More cops swarmed in, along with security guards, agents from the federal building, and, finally, the EMTs. The officer asked Vincent a few terse questions to establish the basics of what had happened.
“Anybody on the street hurt?” Vincent asked.
“Can’t say for certain yet, sir, but there are no reports of any other casualties.”
“Thank God for small favors, huh?” Claudia said quietly, and Vincent turned toward her.
It was the first chance he’d had to really get a good look at her since the shooting began, and aside from a few new scrapes, she looked beautifully safe and sound. Not caring about the staring cops or his fellow agents, he kissed her hard on the mouth, then hugged her close.
“You scared the hell out of me. When Sheridan called to tell me he didn’t know where you were and that you hadn’t boarded your plane this morning, I thought those two had killed you. It felt like I’d been hit by a Mack truck, thinking that you—”
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She kissed him back, quick and breathless. “I’m so sorry I scared you like that, but I had no idea—Oh, God, did Ben really call you?”
“You were missing. He thought you might be with me.”
She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, boy. He’s gonna be so pissed at me.”
Maybe it was relief at seeing her alive and well, or maybe it was relief at not dying like he’d expected, but the mix of panic and frustration in her expression struck him as funny, and he chuckled.
“Then this is probably a bad time to tell you he’s here in Philly, most likely sitting in a car outside my house.” Vincent recalled who else he’d asked to go to his place. “And most likely surrounded by cops, too.”
She blanched. “I’m dead. He’s seriously gonna kill me.”
“Not while I’m around,” Vincent told her. “And don’t take this wrong, but would you care to explain why you’re here and not in Dallas?”
“Yeah . . . but how about we wait until we’re alone? This mess is going to take a while to clean up.” Leaning closer, she whispered, “I’m so, so sorry you had to shoot. If I could’ve done that for you, I would have.”
Vincent closed his eyes. Her words seemed to release something within him, and all the fear and anger and sorrow rolled over him in a smothering wave as the full implications of what he’d done hit. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. He blew out a breath instead, and said, “I could really use a beer.”
The cop sent him a sympathetic look, then politely averted his gaze as Claudia leaned forward and rested her head on his shoulder.
“Me, too.”
“I don’t regret it,” he added, watching as the EMTs loaded Bartowski onto a stretcher with quick efficiency. Two others stood by another stretcher, a folded body bag waiting on top for Lewis’s body. “There was no other choice.”
“I know,” she said, still softly. “And I know how sometimes not even that makes it any easier.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
What a rotten day.
Ben sat in his rental car, seat back and windows open, as a local news station played quietly on his radio. The updates on the shootings at the federal building sounded less chaotic by now, but it didn’t improve his mood. From the moment he’d pulled up to DeLuca’s house, things had not gone well. Too many cops, and no one with any idea what was happening. He was lucky not to have been arrested in the midst of all the confusion, luckier yet that a detective believed his explanation because he’d just had a similar conversation with DeLuca.
When all hell broke loose at the federal building, the detective and the small army of cops had rushed off, leaving behind a single disgruntled-looking patrolman to keep an eye on Ben.
A glance at his side mirror revealed the cop still parked across the street, still watching him. A nuisance, but a useful one. The cop had informed Ben that Claudia and DeLuca were alive and unharmed. Two others were not so fine, but the cop refused to pass along any more information.
From what Claudia had told him the day before, he figured the two shooting victims were the women who’d been after DeLuca. Which meant he could file this assignment under “Closed” and “Near Disaster.”
Settling back, he tried to ignore his shirt sticking to his sweaty skin, the weariness pulling at him, the frustration and anger nipping at his raw nerves.
London had been . . . tense. No sign of von Lahr or Vanessa Sharpton—and that she was traveling with von Lahr piqued Ben’s interest. She didn’t fit von Lahr’s usual type, so what did he want with her?
The inevitable argument with Will Tiernay had been particularly unpleasant. Something was wrong there, and Ben wasn’t quite sure what, although he had his suspicions. Mostly they’d argued over Will’s girlfriend, and how their secretive little trysts may have placed her in danger once again.
Then came Ron Levine’s call from Peru, confirming Ben’s fears. Stuart Wilcox’s body had been found. Cause of death was a gunshot wound to the left temple. And the additional details made it clear that locals weren’t responsible. The news cut Ben’s London trip short, and he immediately flew back to deliver the news of Wilcox’s death personally to his wife and family.
They’d been in Bangor, refueling, when Ellie finally contacted him with the alarming news that Claudia had apparently disappeared. With the details of Wilcox’s death fresh in his mind, Ben had immediately assumed the worst, and he’d decided Mrs. Wilcox could remain blissfully ignorant of her husband’s death for a few hours longer while he tracked down Claudia.
Instead he sat here in the blistering heat, under the sour gaze of a Philly cop, contemplating how one of his smartest operatives could’ve fallen for an FBI agent she’d been bitching about for months. And wondering how he could turn this unwelcome development to his own advantage.
What a rotten, rotten day.
Chapter Twenty-eight
An hour later, Claudia slid into the backseat of Detective Matherson’s car beside Vincent.
“Thanks again for giving us a ride,” she said.
“No problem.” Matherson glanced back at them in his rearview mirror. “Vince’s car didn’t look like it was going anywhere”
“Between the bullet-ridden car and the Day-Glo paint job at my house, my insurance company is going to jack my rates up through the roof,” Vincent said ruefully. “So I could really use some cheering up. How about you tell me a nice story, Claudia, and explain what the hell is going on?”
Claudia leaned back and finally allowed herself the luxury of relaxing. Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe how she felt.
“I couldn’t get on that plane. I just knew you were in danger, and I had to stay, even if it made you very angry.”
When he didn’t deny the anger part, she shot him a quick look. “Are you mad?”
“That you cared enough about me to risk getting into big trouble by staying? Not really. Do I look that stupid?”
“Well . . .” After a quick peek at Matherson, she lowered her voice. “There’s that male pride thing. And the trust thing.”
“That’s a lot of ‘things,’ ” he said, his tone mild. “You’ll have to believe me when I tell you my life is worth more than my ego. You were right, and I was wrong. Lesson learned.”
Relieved, she said, “I kept thinking about what they might do, looking at it from their viewpoint. I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were desperate, maybe even suici
dal—and no matter how prepared you are, you can’t prepare for that kind of crazy. I figured it would be easier for them to get you on your way home from work than at your house, since the police were already watching the area. I parked close enough that I could see your car, and once the shooting started, I got to you as fast as I could.”
“That was some fancy driving. And quick thinking,” Matherson said.
“Thanks. I used to be a cop.”
“It shows.”
Claudia was glad Matherson didn’t ask why she wasn’t a cop anymore. “It still ended up a big mess. We’re lucky no one else was hurt.”
“Yeah,” Matherson said. “Good shooting, Vince. I know you wish it could’ve ended differently, but they didn’t give you a choice.”
When Vincent didn’t answer, she searched his face, trying to gauge how he was responding to what he’d done. You could train all your life for the possibility of having to shoot someone, and it still didn’t help you face the aftermath of actually ending a life. “You really okay about what happened?”
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “If Bartowski dies, too, I might feel it more, but right now there’s nothing except maybe anger. Such a waste, you know? To throw your life away over something so stupid.”
“Are you going to talk to her, if she pulls through?”
“Yes. I want to know if there was something more than grief that pushed them over the edge. If that’s all it was, so be it. I’m expecting more, though. Maybe Johnny Lewis had something to do with it all. Maybe he asked them to go on a private war against me. Maybe they made a promise, and kept it even after he died.” He paused. “Mostly, I want to understand.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Claudia said, still a little worried. He acted calm, but his saying such things made her realize he was pretty shook up. “Don’t be surprised if they turn out to be a little crazy.”
“I’m voting for crazy,” Matherson said. “Did Vince tell you they returned everything they’d stolen? We found it in a box at the airport.”
No, he hadn’t. Must’ve slipped his mind while he was busy not getting killed. “The airport?” she asked.
Vincent nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I thought they’d kidnapped you after Sheridan said you never got on your plane. Instead, it drew a big chunk of cops to the airport for much of the morning. That was probably their intent—to thin out the blue line.”
“Are you going to prosecute her for the thefts?”
“I’ll try.”
“There’s always the fact she tried to kill an FBI agent. That’s a federal offense.”
“If she lives, she’s going to prison. There’s no doubt about that.”
Claudia gently touched his arm, and after a moment, his rigid muscles relaxed. “It’ll get sorted out. In a few weeks, you’ll be living your life just like it’s always been,” she said.
“I hope not.”
Taken aback, she asked, “What do you mean?”
“I think your presence has to be factored into any happily-ever-after for me. You seem to be a chaotic force.”
Not one of the more romantic things to tell a girl. “Well, excuse me.”
“Not a chance.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
His warm smile banished her worries. “We did okay. We make a good team, huh?”
“I think so.”
“We should do this more often.” At his stare, she added quickly, “Work together—not get into shoot-outs in parking garages.”
“Okay, you two. Cut that out until you get behind closed doors. Have pity on me, okay?” Matherson sounded grumpy, but Claudia had a sneaky feeling he was smiling. “My wife’s visiting her mother, and I’m probably the only cop in Philly who doesn’t have a decent porn collection.”
“The old lady won’t stand for that, eh?” Vincent asked, smile widening.
“Just you wait—you’ll see. They’re all sex kitten and tease before you marry ’em. Then they fill the house with cute kids, fattening food fit for a king, and civilize all your brutish ways. No more farting while watching TV. No more sleeping in on weekends. No more living on pizza and beer. It’s sheer hell, I tell ya.”
Claudia laughed, and Vincent joined in. She knew what Matherson was doing, and silently sent him a thank-you.
Ten minutes later, she wished someone could ease her nerves. She spotted the large, dark SUV outside Vincent’s house and knew with a sinking feeling that Ben hadn’t gotten bored waiting for them and left.
She hadn’t really expected him to let her off that easy, though—and the presence of a police cruiser warned her he’d be in no mood to be nice. Then there was the matter of the wrecked rental car he didn’t even know about yet.
“I think you can send that cop on his way,” she said.
“Will do,” Matherson said as he pulled up behind the SUV. “Look, I didn’t know this Sheridan guy, and even though his story made sense and he was cooperative enough to let us search him and his vehicle, I didn’t want to let him hang around unattended. I still wasn’t clear on what was happening at the federal building.”
“It’s all right. I appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to on my behalf,” said Vincent.
“So you owe me one. I’ll find a way to make you pay me back.”
After they got out of the car, Claudia watched the detective jog across the street to tell the patrol cop he could leave. Then, with a sigh, she looked back at the SUV. How could fiberglass and rubber look so ominous? “I am so not looking forward to this. I should’ve called and explained myself, but . . .”
After a moment, Vincent prodded, “But . . . ?”
“But I’m such a chickenshit,” she whispered, not wanting Ben to hear her. “I knew he’d refuse to let me stay, so I didn’t call and figured I’d deal with the fallout later. I’m almost glad we got shot at. If I’d been wrong, I’d be in even more trouble.” She straightened her shoulders. “But I made the decision; I’ll take the lumps. Ben’s really not that bad, but he didn’t get where he is today by being a nice man.”
Vincent frowned. “Why the hell is he just sitting in there?”
“Terror tactics,” Claudia said with feeling. “He’s probably waiting until Matherson leaves.”
Vincent grunted. “Or maybe he just fell asleep.”
“I don’t think he sleeps. My theory is that he’s really a robot.”
The patrol cop drove off. A moment later, Matherson followed with a jaunty wave.
Claudia sucked in a long breath. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
She walked over to the SUV, Vincent close behind her, as the door swung open and Ben Sheridan stepped out, his clothing wrinkled from a day’s worth of traveling and sitting in hot vehicles. He’d no doubt started out with a tie and suit coat, but now his shirt was opened at the collar and the sleeves rolled up. His short, dark hair was as perfectly trimmed as ever, but, like Vincent, he was one of those men who went through life perpetually in need of a shave.
“Glad to see you finally made it,” Ben said, his tone uncomfortably mild. His gaze dropped briefly to her bandaged elbows, but he said nothing. “I was entertaining the idea of betting the cop which one of us would have heatstroke first, me or him.”
What could she say, except, “Sorry, Ben.”
Ben’s gaze shifted to Vincent. “You must be DeLuca.”
To Claudia’s surprise, Vincent held out his hand. “Pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Sheridan.”
Ben shook his hand. “I’m here for my operative. She goes to the airport with me.”
Oh, boy. Beyond awkward. To nip any tense standoffs in the bud, Claudia deliberately moved between them and made a show of peeking inside the car—she was genuinely surprised to see no one else inside. “Isn’t Ellie or Shaunda with you?”
“No,” Ben said, shortly. “They do sometimes let me off the leash.”
Claudia saw Vincent perk with interest. “Who’s Ellie and Shaunda?”
“My
bodyguards.”
Vincent blinked. “Do people try to kill you very often?”
“Not as often as they’d like. Let’s go, Claudia. I’ve waited long enough, and you’ve neglected your work long enough as well.”
Ben and Vincent were of a similar height and build, but Ben was heavier. More intimidating. They stood eye to eye, evaluating each other in that familiar male territorial way while Claudia mentally squirmed in discomfort.
“And I hope you have a very good explanation for neglecting your responsibilities.”
At that, all her guilty feelings vanished. “But Vincent is more important than any of that! He’s a friend.” She felt a blush heating her face. “More than a friend, obviously, and he was in trouble. I’m sorry for not calling, but I had to be here for him. If something had gone wrong, I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
After a moment, Ben said, “You know the protocol. A missed check-in means I get involved, no matter what, even if it turns out you were only bailing out your boyfriend’s careless ass.”
Vincent stiffened, but she grabbed his arm, nails digging into his muscles in warning as she repeated, “I am sorry.”
She couldn’t promise that it wouldn’t happen again, though, and by the look in his eyes, Ben hadn’t missed that finer point.
“I respect your dedication and loyalty. It’s one of the reasons I value you as an employee,” Ben said, although his focus was on Vincent.
After that long, measuring glance at Vincent—with a shade of calculation that made Claudia nervous—Ben added, “I apologize if I’m short-tempered. One of my tour guides went missing in Peru last week, and his body was recently discovered. I have good reason to believe it’s an atypical murder, and I was concerned that his disappearance might’ve been linked to your situation. I’m very relieved to see you safe, but now it’s time to go. The jet’s waiting, Claudia, and you do have responsibilities elsewhere.”
Her Last Chance Page 24