He didn’t speak but held her gaze for a moment before heading for the door. “I should be back in ten minutes or less.”
He stepped onto the landing, and she let out a pent-up breath of frustration. She heard the outside padlock snick into place.
“Really,” she called out. “You’re locking me in?”
“You give me no choice.”
Just like him to assume she’d take off. She supposed since she’d been thinking that very thing he was justified in his interpretation, but still. “Maybe you should have thought about it first. I have the key, and you won’t be getting back inside until my replacement shows up.”
“Are you sure?”
Keys jingled on the other side of the door, and she ran to her hiding place to jerk open the drawer. She found it empty. Great. He’d taken her keys while she’d slept, too. She wanted to stomp her foot in frustration, but she resisted displaying her anger for him to gloat over.
Not anger. Not really. She had no real intention of leaving before her replacement arrived. Still, she wouldn’t let anyone bark orders at her.
She glanced out the window and caught sight of him as he skirted the edge of the clearing. A big, powerful guy, a real man’s man, he also possessed the grace of a dancer and the tenacity of a bull.
He disappeared into the woods near her hunting blind. He was doing everything in his power to catch Oren, and for that she should be thankful and help him track Oren down.
So what if Agent Riggins was bossy and controlling? She knew how to handle that behavior. She’d learned the hard way when Nolan did an about-face after he’d put the engagement ring on her finger. He’d gone from a kind man to a guy who thought of her as his property and demanded she comply with his wishes. She didn’t put up with his need to control her every step for long, but broke off their engagement and had only recently gotten her life back on track. There was no way she would ever enter into a relationship with a man like that again.
But what about staying alive and getting her old life back? How did that work with going to D.C. and putting herself in Oren’s path?
It didn’t, but could she live with herself if Oren killed another person when she could have helped Agent Riggins stop him?
The answer was simple. No. She’d go to D.C. to help locate Oren, but she wouldn’t let anything personal develop with Agent Riggins. And she wouldn’t let down her guard and count on him for her protection. She might accompany him, but she would live as she had for the last three months, relying on herself alone to stay safe, as she still couldn’t trust him to be there for her while he was so focused on capturing Oren.
“So you’re going to D.C.,” she whispered to the empty room, as if it could talk back and reinforce her decision, and she hoped—no, she prayed—she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
* * *
Cal stepped through knee-high grass, seeds clinging to his dress slacks. He should have worn tactical clothes instead of the suit, but he thought Tara would respond better to the professional agent look he reluctantly took on when his job required it. He’d planned to march up to her tower last night, make a proper entrance, and offer a professional plea for her help.
“That went according to plan,” he muttered as he slipped under the limb of a tall maple.
When she’d run again, he’d had no choice but to come after her. Then emotions had flown high between them in this ridiculous undercurrent that seemed to swirl round them. He made sure his presence kept people from crossing him or arguing, but Tara? She didn’t care. She stood up to him. Impressed the heck out of him as much as it frustrated him.
He’d always been able to control his emotions, but, man. With her it was like she had antiaircraft ready to shoot down his defenses. That made him mad at himself. He got grumpy and fired back.
And if his behavior wasn’t enough to make her run screaming, he’d come here to ask for her help, and what had he done in return? Nothing. Well, he’d locked her in the tower. That was less than nothing. He would never have done so if she didn’t have a rifle and could handle it if needed.
His behavior was going to change starting the moment he returned to the tower. He’d control the way he responded to her and point out that she couldn’t run on her own forever. That despite Agent Fields’s failure to keep Keeler away from her at the hospital, the Knights would protect her—he would protect her. He’d remind her that she was needed to help catch Oren, and once he was caught, she’d be safe and could go back to a normal life. Then maybe she’d agree to accompany him back to D.C., and he could do right by her.
A twig snapped ahead, and he swung around to see a rabbit hop into the undergrowth. It could have been Keeler, and Cal’s head was all wrapped up in Tara.
“Not good, man,” he whispered to himself. “Focus.”
One second of underestimating the enemy and people died.
God had given Cal the ability to save people, but He allowed them to die anyway. What point was there in women losing their lives in these bombs? In allowing a stray bullet to take Willy’s life?
What a disaster that had been. Cal carried the boy as they fled from the drug cartel who had taken Willy and his missionary family hostage. Shocked, Cal had stood frozen in place, the boy cradled close, his heart no longer beating. Cal’s second in command basically dragged him out of the compound so they could get to their exfil location in time. They boarded the aircraft, and for the whole flight to Dallas, he listened to the mother’s keening wails and the father’s mumbled prayers. It was the longest flight of Cal’s life, and his palms sweat just thinking about it.
Where were you, God? Didn’t these parents deserve their precious son?
He waited for an answer, but why? He’d been asking the same question for too long. Never finding answers. Never finding peace, and nothing he’d done or could do would erase the pain of losing a child. Sure, everyone’s life was precious—these women Keeler had taken and others Cal had lost during his SEAL career—but the death of an innocent child was far harder to bear, and as a result Cal had left the SEALs behind and had tried to make sense of the loss.
Anger rose up and tried to suffocate him, but he swallowed it down and refocused before another tragedy occurred. He moved from tree to tree, scanning the area until he came upon his car. He took a few minutes to look deeper into the woods, and after he was convinced that no one lurked nearby, he slipped into his car and drove down the road, moving slowly and keeping his head on a swivel.
On his initial scouting of the area last night, he’d spotted a rusty old pickup in the brush up ahead. He’d jimmied the lock and found a tote bag filled with items Tara would use for a quick getaway, which was why he’d had to lock her inside the tower. He’d also pulled the distributor cap on the truck just in case. Even if she decided to run again, he could find her at the truck, so he bumped his vehicle off the road next to it.
Once parked, he slipped out of his suit and into tactical pants and a team logo shirt. He resettled his holster and Glock before grabbing his comms unit. He clipped the radio on his belt and wove under his shirt the cord with a mic that sat at chest level and terminated in earbuds.
He inserted the buds in his ears, then pressed the talk switch. “Alpha Two. You in range?”
“Roger that.” Brynn’s voice came through his earbud. “We’re ten minutes out.”
“Report,” he demanded without any pleasantries.
“We’ve reviewed satellite images and the op is set. County deputies are still in formation in a wide perimeter, and they’ll remain in place until we move our package. I’ll set up our command post at their rear and the rest of the team will set an interior line of defense. I’ll also intercept the fire lookout when she arrives and deliver her safely to the tower. Then you and I will move the package to the command station. If things go according to plan, we’ll have a county escort to the airport and have the package onboard our Cessna winging her way to D.C. by noon.”
“According to pl
an,” he muttered. “Let’s make sure that happens, and we keep the package safe.”
Calling Tara a package felt odd, but on the off chance that someone intercepted their communication, they couldn’t risk mentioning her name. He signed off with the team and shrugged his go pack over his shoulders before heading toward the tower to share the plan with Tara.
He didn’t have to give her reaction to the team’s assistance much thought. She was already mad about him obtaining a warrant for her arrest, calling in a replacement, and then locking her in the tower. When she learned that he’d enlisted the team and the sheriff to ensure that she got on that plane whether she wanted to or not, she’d fire that heated gaze his way. He’d take any guff she threw at him and continue with his plan.
With a longer hike now, he picked up his speed, glad to be wearing tactical boots and less restrictive clothes that allowed him to move with ease. He jogged over rough terrain, pausing to listen at intervals.
A rifle boomed in the distance, the sound coming through the external hear-thru microphones on his earbuds. The report reverberated through the air and sent birds squawking into the sky.
A hunter? Not likely with deer season occurring in the fall.
The tower? Had Keeler arrived after Cal had departed and fired on Tara in the tower?
Another shot ripped through the air, sounding from the gate.
He jerked out his gun and froze to evaluate. The driveway was about six hundred yards long and a basic hunting rifle could easily fire that distance.
Tara!
“Shooter at the gate,” he said into his comms unit, though the team wouldn’t be able to help for another few minutes. “I’m going for the package. You take the gate when you arrive.”
“Roger that,” Brynn replied.
Cal took off running, his heart thumping hard against his chest. He hadn’t prepared for sniper fire, as Keeler was a bomber not a shooter. Without a rifle, Cal was defenseless against a long gun in the hands of a skilled shooter.
What had he been thinking leaving Tara in the tower like a sitting duck?
It didn’t matter. It was too late to rethink his decision. He had to hope she hadn’t exaggerated her ability to use a rifle, or this could end as disastrously as the horrific vision racing through his mind.
Chapter 9
Oren!” Tara hit the floor. “Don’t let him be here. Please. Not him.”
Another bullet zipped through the wall above her head, and she rolled to the side. She had to get out of there, but she couldn’t exit by the door Agent Riggins locked. Not that she’d take that exit anyway. Oren would expect that.
She scooted to the far corner, pulled open the bottom drawer of built-in shelving, and tugged out the same backpack from last night.
Crack. A bullet whizzed through the wall, then another, sending splinters of wood pelting her body. She rolled to her side and used her feet to push a cabinet off a hidden trapdoor before prying the heavy wood open.
Fresh air rushed through the hatch, and hope for escape blew in with it, allowing her to breathe again. She opened a container holding the emergency stairs that resembled a fire escape ladder made for two-story homes. She dropped the ladder down.
Yes! Perfect, just as she planned. As was the thick cardboard she’d attached to an outside post to hide her escape ladder in the event of an attack. Oren couldn’t possibly see her movements until she ran for brush surrounding the clearing. Even then, depending on his location, he wouldn’t catch sight of her.
She scrambled down the ladder and hit the ground hard, creating a mini dust storm. She paused for a moment to get her bearings. She counted to five and ran. Straight ahead. Hard. Fast. Over the packed dirt. Across clumps of crabgrass and past a thicket of wild raspberry bushes.
Her bare arm caught on a bramble, ripping her skin, but she didn’t stop. Getting to her truck was the only thing on her mind. She’d run this route every day to keep the crabgrass flattened down and the path free, so she made good time. She plunged down the final incline to her truck and spotted an SUV parked next to it.
She came up short and stood panting, evaluating.
Agent Riggins’s or Oren’s car? It could belong to either one.
She dropped into a squat behind high grasses and slithered to the side of the SUV. She popped up, took a quick look. Agent Riggins’s pricey suit hung in the back. Sighing, she dropped down to catch her breath and listen.
Birds had resumed their chatter, and a soft breeze stirred the grasses, swaying them in a gentle rhythm. No footsteps pounding her way or twigs snapping or leaves crunching—no sounds that Oren would make if he was coming after her. Cal was another story. He’d be silent and quick. Something she wouldn’t mind right now.
Digging her keys from her pocket, she bolted for her truck. Trembling hands fumbled to fit the key in the lock, but she soon jerked open the rusty hinged door and slid onto cracked vinyl seats. She inserted the key and cranked.
No response. Nothing. Zilch.
She tried again. Just a click.
Agent Riggins. He must have disabled it. She pounded her hand on the wheel. She knew nothing about engines and couldn’t possibly fix it, but owning an ancient truck, she’d prepared for this possibility. Only one thing to do.
“Hoof it.” She reached for her secondary escape bag but came up empty-handed. Agent Riggins again, she supposed. Too bad for him. He didn’t realize the lengths she’d go to. She had another identity in her backpack. She’d felt dirty when she’d met with the forger in Atlanta, but she’d obtained several IDs and now she'd used them all.
She slipped out of the truck, squatted behind the door for safety, and peeked around the edge. Leaves swished in the breeze, the sun shone warm on her face, but somewhere in the idyllic setting a killer waited with a bullet for her. Still, there had been no additional gunfire, and she’d moved well out of rifle range from where the shots had originated at the gate.
She couldn’t underestimate Oren, though. They’d learned to hunt together. She was a better shot, but he was more willing to kill anything in sight, so he wouldn’t easily give up. Perhaps he crept through the scrub, heading her way, or maybe Agent Riggins had stopped him.
She couldn’t hang around to find out. She searched the area one more time, focusing in on the surrounding forest, but saw no suspicious activity.
In one sure move, she got up and bolted for the other side of the road, where she dove into the ditch. She landed with an oomph. Her knees and hands razored across rocks and gravel. She gasped for air, filling her lungs with dust and grit. She lay still, waiting for gunfire, for a bullet in the back.
Nothing happened. She counted to thirty. Poked her head up to look around.
A gunshot cracked through the air, the sound coming from across the road. She ducked her head, but the bullet didn’t land anywhere near her.
Odd.
Her truck suddenly erupted in a deafening explosion.
She clamped her hands over her ears and curled up as a ball of orange-and-yellow fire whooshed across the road and debris pummeled her body.
* * *
Cal spun, the ground reverberating under his location just shy of the tower. A fireball rose into the sky. It had to be Tara’s truck. Had she somehow gotten out of the tower? Was she sitting inside, cranking the engine he’d sabotaged, and the twist of the ignition had set off a bomb? Or worse, had Keeler climbed the tower and dragged her to the truck where he’d put a necklace bomb around her neck?
God, no, please, Cal pled silently, though his experience said God wasn’t listening.
His heart constricting, he spun, and not caring for his own life, he plunged into the bushes. He found a well-worn path that Tara must have groomed for an escape that he’d foiled any chance of happening.
He ran hard, his gut cramping for the danger he’d put her in. Knowing she’d parked the truck just over the rise, he kicked harder and barreled down the incline. The heat hit his face before he caught sight of the fire.
“Tara.” The anguished cry escaped his lips.
Was she in that fiery inferno? Had another person died on his watch? How could he have let that happen—how could God have allowed it to happen?
He shifted to his right, skirted the blaze, and searched for a better angle to attempt a rescue.
Movement in the ditch across the road caught his eye, and he came to a skidding stop to take cover behind a tree. An arm, a hand, small and graceful, reached up to the shoulder of the road.
Tara? Could she be alive?
Cal found a path to the road, scanned the area, and bolted toward her.
A gunshot rang out.
He dove for the ditch, the bullet whizzing overhead. He rolled to his side, lifted his handgun, and aimed at the tree where the shot had originated. He fired off a few rounds to lay down cover, allowing him to move forward. He crawled ahead—frantic, quick movements. He saw hiking boots, and Tara’s yellow cat socks, but she lay motionless as in death.
He scrambled forward. “Tara?”
No answer.
He continued clawing at the ground and moving on his elbows. All of the drills he’d learned as a SEAL became more important than he’d ever known. He reached ahead and shook her foot.
No response.
Please, God. Let her be alive.
He shimmied up next to her and took her wrist to check her pulse.
She stirred. Turned to look at him. “Agent Riggins, thank goodness! I think there was a bomb. In the truck.”
A rifle shot split the air, the bullet piercing the ground inches from her head. She recoiled. He pushed to his arms and covered her body, shifting to access his microphone.
Tara struggled to get out from under him.
Right. She didn’t trust him. Even here. She considered him the enemy when he only wanted to keep her safe. His anger boiled up.
“Don’t move, for Pete’s sake,” he snapped. “My team is nearly in place, and we need to wait for them before we can get out of here. And for the last time, call me Cal.”
Fatal Mistake--A Novel Page 7