“And it’s Wright.”
She looked him over for signs of blood, wondering how a guy could take out three obviously trained killers and not suffer anything more than a wrinkled shirt. “Do you have a head injury or something?”
“The name is Adam Wright, not Wallace.”
That little tidbit ticked her off. “And I’m just supposed to believe you?”
“Yes.”
Her fury was ridiculous. She knew that. She lived under an assumed name with a life she never wanted and certainly didn’t earn. She had no right to judge him. But now she understood she couldn’t trust him and that ticked her off. He’d taken out a trio of guys with guns, but she still didn’t know who was on what side.
And she could not depend on him to be honest. The only thing that saved him from a knee to the groin was the way he threw out Rod’s name.
“Is anything about you real?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
Chapter Three
Luke Hathaway stepped up to the conference room table of the newly rebuilt Recovery Project headquarters. From the outside, the place looked like nothing more than an abandoned beige warehouse near the southwest Washington, D.C., waterfront. Inside was a different story.
Monitors and enough flashy electronic machinery to make even the most hardened technogeek smile lined one wall. Adam had set up the surveillance part of the office, using the unwanted inheritance of Luke’s wife, Claire, to fund the construction.
Stairs ran up from the middle of the large open room to the crash-pad bedroom above. The space under the stairs served as both a storage space and an informal seating area with couches and chairs.
The building stayed in lockdown and required palm prints and a secret code for access. Luke insisted on the extra security measures after a group of commandos had stormed his suburban home and left in body bags.
Three months ago they’d operated as a quasi-governmental but still legitimate venture. They found missing people, both those who wanted rescue and those who were desperate to stay hidden. One of those missions had centered on Claire. Saving her had meant blowing their agency cover and losing their funding, all at the direction of a corrupt politician who had died in a shoot-out with Recovery agents.
Now they were a private organization, which meant no government oversight…and no one to stand up for them if they messed up. Since they rarely did, that was not much of a concern.
Luke took the seat at the head of the table and reached for the coffeepot in front of him. He poured what was his fourth cup before six in the morning. Much more and his eyes would float.
“What’s the word from Adam?” he asked the others in the room.
Without any planning or fanfare, the team had designated Luke their interim leader now that Rod Lehman, the previous boss, had gone missing. Making the head chair the one available to Luke was their way of reaching a silent agreement on the matter. Their loyalty humbled him.
“Adam checked in. Said there was gunfire during the extraction.” Caleb Mattern managed to fold his arms behind his head and shrug at the same time. “He took out three and is on the way back here with the Timmons woman.”
Avery, Caleb’s wife of one week, reached for a mug and settled into the chair across from her husband. They held matching science degrees and both excelled in forensics. The sly smile on her face said she was using her investigative skills now to eye up her spouse.
“It is amazing to me how you guys can say stuff like that and think it’s normal,” she said.
Caleb’s mouth dropped open in mock surprise. “It’s not?”
Luke enjoyed the banter, actually hated to break it up since the headquarters served as Caleb and Avery’s temporary home. They deserved a place to step away from work, but they didn’t have it right now.
Getting Avery to safety during their recent search for Rod had left Caleb’s condo open to compromise. Their new place was being retrofitted with the appropriate security measures. Until Adam was satisfied the condo near the National Zoo had every precaution and a host of silent alarms, Caleb and Avery made their home above the stairs.
“Any chance Adam took care of the bodies before he got in the truck?” Luke asked once the couple went from bickering to staring at each other. Luke didn’t want to get in the middle of that, either.
“I’ll check.” Caleb spun his chair around to face the bank of monitors and started typing on one of the keyboards. “But you know Adam.”
“I’ll assume that means no.” Luke reached for the phone in the middle of the table.
Avery morphed from newlywed to concerned team member. She’d worked in a government lab, analyzing exhibits and evidence for criminal cases until she’d helped Recovery on an off-the-books job and got placed on administrative leave. That left all her attention for Recovery and Caleb.
“Do you think we need to send in reinforcements just in case Adam missed someone?” she asked.
Luke shook his head. “Never get there in time. Besides, Adam was doing a grab and run. He should be long gone. It’s pretty standard stuff.”
Avery snorted. “Only if the grabee cooperates.”
“How could any woman say no to Adam?” Caleb laughed at his own joke then grew serious. “The bigger question is, who sent the men? Taking out the crooked WitSec handler a month ago clearly didn’t stop the bloodshed. That means, as we feared, this is not done.”
“We could have more victims, more participants in the program whose locations are being given up for cash,” Avery said.
“Exactly.” That familiar anxiety churned in Luke’s gut. “I want Adam back here so we can question the Timmons woman and figure out how to keep her hidden until we find the person at the head of this killing scheme.”
Caleb yawned into his mug. “Now.”
“What?”
“You mean, who’s in charge now. So far we’ve already uncovered a conspiracy involving Bram Walters, a now very dead congressman, and a supervisor in the Marshals Service who handled WitSec participants.”
Avery raised her hand. “Don’t forget Trevor Walters.”
Caleb swore under his breath. “Can’t even though I want to.”
“He’s in on this. I can feel it. Being Bram’s brother just increases the taint on Trevor as far as I can tell,” she said.
Luke wished it were as easy as thinking it was true. “We have to prove it. Until we do, Trevor is just a very rich, very connected and very untouchable businessman.”
“We’ll get him.”
Luke wanted to agree with Avery, but being sure about Trevor’s involvement hadn’t stopped the disaster so far. They needed facts and a way to take him out. “Try Adam again.”
Caleb nodded. “Will do.”
“How is Claire?” Avery’s voice softened as she asked the question.
Just the mention of his wife’s name and Luke felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “Pregnant and pissed because I insist she have security all the time.”
Avery smiled. “This will all be over soon.”
“Let’s hope.” Luke turned to Caleb. “What does Adam say?”
Caleb spun back around to face the table. His lips were thinned in a grim line. “Nothing. I suddenly can’t reach him.”
ADAM GOT MADDIE into his truck and watched her strap the seat belt across her chest. She stayed quiet and agreed with everything he said, followed every direction without fighting back. Didn’t try to kick him or steal his weapon.
He didn’t buy the act for one second. He’d bet his life she was waiting for the right time to run.
He wanted to think his sound arguments had convinced her to calm down, but he knew that wasn’t true. This woman was trained by Rod, the same man who’d trained Adam. She wouldn’t believe a stranger who showed up to pull her out of bed and race through the woods. She wouldn’t admit to being in WitSec.
And she wouldn’t sit quietly in his truck while he drove her to some unknown destination.
> She was not stupid. She possessed street smarts and a stunning will to live. Turning evidence on a boyfriend who ran the biggest meth operation in Chicago proved that. Maddie was smart enough to get out and cut a deal with the Justice Department, one that landed her in WitSec and eventually in his lap.
Adam just hoped she’d put her drug past behind her. He didn’t want to deal with her going through withdrawal or looking for a hit. Recovery had a no-drug policy. They were all clean and no one questioned it. Adam believed in getting his thrills in other ways. Always had.
“Russell Ambrose is dead.” Adam meant to deliver the news of her handler with a little less anger in his voice and a whole lot more tact, but it didn’t work out that way.
Her head whipped around. Her unblinking stare out the window ended that fast. “What?”
He slipped the keys into the ignition but didn’t start the car. “He was giving away the identities of WitSec participants. He collected cash and got them killed.”
When she just stared at him, Adam rushed to fill the uncomfortable silence. “That’s why I’m here.”
“To kill me.”
“No.” He shook his head for emphasis since words alone didn’t appear to be working.
“Sure feels like it.”
“Maddie, listen to me. I’m trying to help you.”
“Right. Because the bad guys always admit they’re trying to kill you.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
“Good point.” He turned the key. “I know about Rod.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
Looked as if they were back to denial. Adam wasn’t surprised, but he was getting frustrated. “I can tell you anything from your file.”
She folded and refolded her hands on her lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He hit the door locks just in case she ended the innocent act and headed for the handle to escape. “I know you’re trained to pretend. I get that.”
“Call the police.”
She could have told him she was a toaster oven and he would have been less surprised. He admired the move. It shoved him right into a corner. “I don’t think so.”
“If what you’re saying is true, call the police.” She glanced around the truck. “I don’t have a phone but I’m betting you do and I know you’re smart enough to dial 911.”
He did have a phone, but the real power came from his watch. It was how he communicated with the other agents, and that was the least impressive of its functions. “Taking you in will send a message to someone in WitSec. A handler will come to pick you up and hush up everything with the police.”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t risk it.”
“Neither can I.” She launched her body in his direction as she unlatched her seat belt.
If he hadn’t been expecting the attack she would have slammed his head against the window. Even waiting for it, she got in a few good shots.
She grabbed for the keys with one hand and punched him in the jaw with the other. The hit sent his head back. The smack against the headrest hurt his neck more than the blow, but she didn’t let up. Her fists pummeled his legs and chest.
When she switched to scratching, dragging her fingers across his forearm until she drew blood, he went from defense to an offensive strike. He grabbed her hand and leaned hard against her, pinning her on her back against the seat.
Her knee caught him in the stomach as she squirmed and flailed. She grunted and panted, forcing him to use more strength than he intended. He’d hoped to talk her down. That was before she aimed for his groin.
“Maddie, stop.”
“You’re hurting me.”
That admission ripped through him. He hated the idea of giving her so much as a bruise. “Stop trying to run and I’ll get up.”
He doubled his intent, stretching her arms above her head and straddling her upper thighs. He braced one foot on the floor and leaned over her, his face just inches from hers. He tried to get her to look at him, but she rolled her head from side to side, her neck muscles straining as she tried to knock him to the floor.
“Get off me.” She lifted her hips in an attempt to buck him off then let out a shriek.
The high-pitched sound echoed in his ears. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” The word came out through staccato breaths.
He recognized pain when he saw it. He figured he had to be hurting her sore shoulder and tried to adjust his hold. “Better?”
“No.”
“Margaret Thomas.”
At the mention of the name she stopped pushing and mumbling. Her chest rose and fell in a rapid pace he feared would stop her heart.
But he had her attention. “That’s your real name. You grew up in Indiana, the only child of Frank and Louise. Your father died when you were fourteen. Your mother died last year, but you couldn’t go to the funeral because of the program’s rules.”
Maddie bit her lip but stayed quiet.
“You testified against Knevin Leonard, your boyfriend and partner in a drug ring. He vowed to kill you for turning him in. Even hired some nasty guys to try it.”
“No.”
The truth was written all over her face, from the sadness in her eyes to the tightening of the skin over her cheekbones. “Yes.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Maddie, please.” He had to break through her protective shield. He had about an hour’s drive to headquarters. He couldn’t spend every moment worrying she’d leap through the window if he slowed down to change lanes. “I can tell you where you met Rod the first time. Would that convince you?”
“I wasn’t his partner.”
Adam sat back, resting his weight on his knees and his hands on his thighs. “I don’t understand.”
She slowly lowered her arms. “I never dealt drugs and didn’t know Knevin was doing it.”
For whatever reason, it seemed that was the one piece of information she couldn’t tolerate being told. Didn’t matter that the evidence said otherwise, she was sticking with the innocence story on that one.
It wasn’t his business. She could tell whatever lie she needed to tell to wrestle the guilt away from her bed at night. But disappointment still pounded him. He’d invested so much time in watching over her that he wanted her to at least own up to her mistakes. They all had a few. Sure, hers were bigger than most, but that just made her human.
He shook off the anger before it could fester. “Fine.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t care.” But he did. The idea of her getting drugs into kids’ hands gnawed at him. Made him want to shake her until she promised never to fall back into those habits.
The emotion washed out of her face, leaving behind only a blank stare. “What happens now?”
“Same plan.” He sat back in his seat and held a hand out to help her up. “We go to the Recovery Project headquarters until we can figure out a way to keep you safe.”
She ignored his offer and sat up on her own. The process took longer than usual for such an easy activity. She twisted and winced.
“And I’m supposed to ignore protocol and not call my handler?”
“Ambrose is dead.”
“So you keep saying.” She tried to turn around and face front then stilled. Adam thought if she bit down any harder on her lower lip, she’d chew right through it.
“Is it your shoulder?”
She stretched, grimacing with every move. “No.”
“It’s something. “
She bent over with her elbows on her knees and inhaled several deep breaths. “I thought you were the smart guy who knew my file.”
He searched his memory but couldn’t come up with anything to explain the green cast to her skin. “Meaning?”
“If you were, you’d know about my back.”
An old injury. That explained it. His intel was incomplete, didn’t reach back much further than the trial prep and police file. It was hard enough even getting t
hat much since her identity was tightly protected. “What about it?”
“I broke it.”
Her shoulder had to be throbbing and now her back. Guilt racked him. He could have been more careful. Maybe not when the gunmen were firing, but certainly when he was trying to get her to listen to him. “When?”
She looked up at him. “When my former boyfriend threw me off a building.”
Chapter Four
Trevor Walters leaned back in his chair and stared at the man sitting on the other side of his desk. If Trevor had his way, John Tate would disappear. Just step into a hole in the earth and never be seen again. It was tempting to make that happen.
If John were a different man, one with less powerful friends and a less visible career, he’d be gone. His pseudowealth and puffed-up overconfidence wouldn’t save him.
The man had all the obvious trappings Trevor despised. Everything about John screamed poor taste wrapped up in a bundle of new money. Passable suit. Shiny watch. Big government title. And not a clue about the danger he invited into his world when he came up against Trevor.
John was the deputy director of the Justice Department’s Office of Enforcement Operations. He handled intricate government surveillance and held all the power in the witness protection program, including having the final say on who got in and who didn’t.
But Trevor was more concerned with the man’s side job: newly minted blackmailer. That was the position that would get John killed. Trevor vowed to make that true.
“I have to wonder where you got the men to fight this particular battle against the Recovery Project,” Trevor said.
“Why?”
“Seems they were not very successful against Adam Wright and Maddie Timmons. One could say they were ill prepared for what they found in West Virginia.”
“This time.”
Trevor predicted the answer was more like every time. “I would have thought you would ask to use my men.”
Not that he would have agreed. Orion Industries was his baby, a legitimate government-contracts firm he built from nothing. The business specialized in threat management, whether that meant assisting fledgling foreign governments or working for his own. He was not about to ruin Orion’s stellar reputation by dragging it into John’s mess.
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