The semi hit their back quarter panel, just past the driver’s-side door. Liberty gripped the dash and held on for dear life. The momentum sent them into the cars. Metal scraped metal, and Liberty screamed. Tate roared, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Finally they cleared the back of the semitruck, and there was enough space for Tate to gun it between the car and the semi and get them away from the crazy truck driver.
Her breath came in gasps. “That wasn’t just a coincidence, was it?”
Tate shook his head. “There’s no way.” He slammed his palm down on the steering wheel. “How did they know where we were and what vehicle we were driving? This is nuts!”
“Could Dane have—”
“There’s no way the sheriff sold us out. He wouldn’t do that. He’s a friend.”
“Okay,” Liberty said, trying to placate him.
Tate shot her a dark look. Liberty said, “What?”
“Didn’t happen to send any messages while we had a cell signal, did you?”
Her mouth dropped open. “You think that truck just tried to flatten us because of me?”
Tate just stared. “It’s a logical assumption.”
“And it can’t be that it’s yours?”
He shook his head. “My phone isn’t even switched on. It isn’t me.”
Liberty bit down on her molars so hard it was a wonder she didn’t crack anything. The man was completely infuriating, and she had half a mind to just demand he pull over so she could get out. Walk back to the hotel, wherever it was, through the snow still falling, and the freezing temperatures. “This is the worst day of my life.”
Tate took a hard right. Liberty slammed against the door.
He said, “Sorry your visit has been such a bad experience.”
* * *
Morning light streamed in the window and across Tate’s face. He shifted on the couch of the camp trailer and stretched, even as he used those first few moments of wakefulness to thank God no one had found them here. They’d parked two miles away and left their cell phones turned off in the truck.
He lifted his watch from the table and sat up. Just past seven. If he slept any longer his schedule would be totally off, so he rubbed his eyes and got up. He glanced toward the bedroom area, four paces to the other side of the camp trailer. Liberty had slid the dividing door closed when she’d gone in there to sleep, but now it was halfway open.
Tate strode over and looked in. The blankets were rumpled, but their occupant was gone. He spun around, then strode to the door. Where on earth was Liberty? A flash of cold went through him. What if something had happened to her? He braced before he pulled the door open, wondering if gunmen were outside the trailer waiting to kill him. He grabbed the closest gun, checked it was ready and then flicked the tiny handle. He pushed the door open with his bare foot.
He’d forgotten shoes.
Liberty let out a squeal of surprise and looked up. In one hand was a drink tray holding two hot cups, and in the other was a white paper sack. “Tate. You’re awake.”
“And you were gone.” He eyed the area around them, the wintry wind numbing his face while she entered, and then he shut the door. Liberty set the food down.
“You were asleep. And I was hungry.” She sighed. “That was nowhere near enough sleep. But I woke up, and you were still sleeping. So I went out. I’ve been gone half an hour.”
“Side trip to the truck?”
“I spoke to Locke, if that’s what you want to know.”
She’d gone to the truck? Tate couldn’t believe she would do that without him. It was so dangerous. His stomach knotted. “And if there had been men waiting for you?” She would have been hurt, maybe even killed, and he would never have known.
She tore the paper bag open and grabbed a breakfast sandwich. “I am capable of being careful and keeping myself safe, thank you very much.”
“I know you are.” Tate knew there wasn’t any answer to satisfy her. They would only get in an argument. The truth was, despite the fact that he knew she was a very capable agent, part of Tate went cold with fear at the idea of her being in danger. Liberty should be safe at all times, just for his peace of mind. Sure, it wasn’t the reality of her life or the job she did. But tell that to Tate’s heart.
He got a sandwich of his own and slumped down onto the couch. She’d been right about one thing—that wasn’t nearly enough sleep. But they were going to have to suck it up because the longer they stayed here, the more danger they were in. Gunmen. Russians. Feds. It didn’t matter who found them; it would be complicated no matter what.
Once there was some food in his stomach, Tate said, “Are you going to tell me if you learned anything?”
Liberty’s mouth curled up on one side. She swiped her lips with a napkin and it disappeared. “There were a...few emails.”
“Which means you had fifty.”
“Fifteen voice mails, twentysomething texts and, yes, a whole lot of emails.”
Tate winced. “Exactly how mad is Locke?”
Liberty scrunched up her nose in a move he absorbed like a starving man at a buffet. Apparently he’d missed that look. She said, “He wasn’t exactly surprised I stuck with you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Liberty sighed. “I’d been at the truck all of a minute before he showed up.”
Tate gasped, and a crumb of sandwich went down the wrong way. He coughed. “Locke what?”
“It’s fine. He had the GPS on my phone activated. Apparently he’s been tracking us every time the signal sent them a ping, and he was close by this morning when I turned my cell on.” She sighed. “He’s going to talk to Dane, get all that sorted out.”
“He didn’t try to convince you to bring me in?” Tate went to the window over the tiny sink and parted the blinds. “He’s waiting outside right now, isn’t he?”
“You think I’d turn you in?”
Tate shrugged. “It isn’t so far a stretch from breaking up with me. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, Lib. And I need to be prepared.”
“Sit down, Tate.”
He leaned against the counter instead. “He could have followed you back here without your knowledge.”
Liberty sighed. “Locke...cares what happens to you. He’s here to convince the local Secret Service agents and the FBI agents who don’t know you of the fact that you didn’t do this. He’s on your side, but you’re so stubborn and determined to go it alone you’re going to dig yourself into a corner Locke and I won’t be able to get you out of.”
“I’m not turning myself in.”
Liberty gritted her teeth. He thought he heard a low noise from her throat, but couldn’t be sure.
“I won’t.”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“Find the source of all this.” He sipped his coffee and thought through the plan as it came together in his head. “Find the person calling the shots.”
“Easier said than done.” She sighed. “And what are you going to do then? Beat it out of them? Maybe try a little coercion?” Liberty stared at him for a beat. “Is doing so going to help plead your case when the evidence stacked against you is so overwhelming?”
“Either you believe me and you’re on my side, or you don’t, Lib. You can’t pick and choose.” She’d stuck with him this far. If she left him and he had to do this alone...well, Tate wasn’t so sure he’d be entirely okay with that.
She set her coffee down. “What’s the plan?”
It took half an hour to get to the truck. Tate scanned the area for his old team as they approached the vehicle, but didn’t see anyone.
“Locke is gone now.”
But how far had he gone? The idea of the man waiting in the background, prepared to defend Tate, was baffling. Consider
ing he hadn’t exactly left the Secret Service in the best standing, he didn’t figure he deserved loyalty of all things. Tate hadn’t had anyone at his back for more than a year, and it had been a scary time, despite the fact that nothing necessarily bad had happened.
Now that Locke—and, yes, Liberty—occupied the spot, Tate felt safer than he had last night. In the heat of the moment it might not make much difference—if Locke was more than a second away and Tate’s life was in the balance. But just the idea of them being prepared to fight on his side made him realize how much loyalty meant to him.
He glanced at Liberty and then started the engine. Maybe that was why her cutting him loose had hurt so much. It had been the ultimate move of disloyalty on her part.
Tate drove to the house Dane had mentioned the night before and pulled up a few doors down. “That house. The red one. It’s the address the truck owned by our kidnappers is registered to.” And the only thing Tate could think might yield any results.
“Our kidnappers?”
Tate nodded and pulled binoculars out of the bag. He seriously owed Dane. The man had thought of everything.
“You still remember snippets of information like that?”
It was just an address. “We broke up. Who I am hasn’t changed, Lib.” He studied the house—because otherwise he would get mad at her again—and then adjusted the focus so he could see inside the front window. Someone was asleep on the couch in the living room.
“Oh, no.” Tate hadn’t thought this could get worse, but apparently this day wasn’t going to get any better. “Seriously?”
“What?” Liberty shifted on her seat. “What is it?”
Tate gritted his teeth, then handed her the binoculars. “My brother is in the house.”
EIGHT
“Why would your brother be in a place belonging to the Russians?” Liberty glanced from the house to Tate, then back to the house. It was run-down, even more than the other houses on this street. The front lawn was overgrown, and where some of the neighbors had empty driveways and mowed lawns, and others were just now leaving for work, the Russians’ house had two beater vehicles in the driveway and a nineties sedan on the street out front.
“That is a real good question.” He didn’t sound happy, and why would he be? Braden was in there.
“Are you sure it’s him?” Tate shot her a look, so she said, “It’s a distance. How well can you see in there?”
“Well enough to know Braden is asleep on the couch.”
“What do you want to do?” She wasn’t exactly sure what his plan was, but she doubted it would involve sitting in the car and watching the house all day. Surveillance wasn’t exactly Tate’s strong suit. He much preferred action, and she didn’t blame him.
Tate grabbed the door handle, but she waylaid him with a hand on his arm. “Tate...”
He looked at her.
Liberty hardly knew where to start, but decided to go with, “Be careful.”
“I will.”
“That’s...not exactly what I mean.” How was she supposed to put it? “I guess I mean it like, ‘tread carefully.’ Because what if your brother is there against his will?”
“I doubt it.”
“But it’s possible, right? Just like it’s possible he isn’t. He could be working with them.” Something dawned on her. “Does he know computers?” Maybe Braden wasn’t a technological dinosaur the way Tate was.
“Sure, I guess. Why?”
“I was just wondering if it was him who did the blog. He knows you better than anyone.”
“I thought it was you who knew me better than anyone. How can Braden, when we hardly ever talk to each other?”
Liberty winced.
“We don’t yet have plans to spend time together over Christmas, like most brothers do. Braden and I... It’s complicated, okay? He blames me for a lot of things, like I’m at fault for everything wrong in his life. It’s like he never grew out of that whiny kid stage where they knock over a priceless vase and then blame it on the dog.”
Tate shrugged her hand off his arm. “I need to go over there and draw him out of the house. I need to look my brother in the eyes and ask him about this missing plane and these guys who keep showing up to take us out.” He paused again. “Maybe it was even him who drove the semitruck right at us.”
Liberty smoothed her hand on the leg of Dane’s wife’s pants. She’d thanked God the woman was a similar size, or she would be having a different set of problems right now. So far God had taken care of them. She could admit as much. They’d been in danger, and almost died several times, but He was protecting them. Watching over them. That wasn’t in question.
If Braden really was part of this, there was no way God would allow him to be successful.
She hurt for Tate over the fact that he had to face the possibility of his brother not just disliking him but maybe also actively seeking to harm him. She didn’t have any siblings, so she couldn’t imagine what that kind of familial betrayal would be like, but she could see how it might hurt.
Liberty didn’t pray for Tate about that, though. Because her hurt hadn’t been healed. Not yet.
“You want me to tread carefully with a guy who might be trying to kill us?” Tate’s eyebrows lifted. “Braden is a grown man who needs to take responsibility for his actions.”
“If you go at him hard, he could shut down. Then we’ll never get answers.”
“Okay,” he acquiesced. “I can see how you might be right. I can be gentle.”
Liberty didn’t want to react, but from his expression she figured she wasn’t as good at hiding it as she wanted to be. She was exhausted, which never boded well for her ability to filter her thoughts and feelings from displaying themselves across her face.
“Okay,” she said. “How do you want to do this?”
“You think I need your help?”
“Well, I’m not going to sit in the car.”
“It’s probably the safest place you can be.”
It was her turn to shoot him a look, then she cracked her door. “I’ll take the back. Make sure he doesn’t get away if he decides to run. Or if there are others in the house. Call me if you need coverage for the front or someone to watch your back.”
Liberty didn’t wait for his response; she just got out and sneaked down the street to the house. The safety net of Locke knowing exactly where they were was a comfort. As was the fact that she heard Tate’s door shut behind her, and then his footsteps. She wasn’t alone anymore.
She crossed the grass and found the gate on the side of the house unlatched, then pushed it open carefully, praying it wouldn’t squeak. And that none of the neighbors would notice two people sneaking around the house. Liberty hugged the siding past the overflowing trash cans and hoped no vicious dogs were hanging out in the backyard.
She stopped at the corner but saw only an overgrown lawn and no sign of animal occupants. Dogs would alert whoever was in the house to her presence, and she didn’t want to take the time to calm them and fight off anyone else.
The patio was nothing but a slab of concrete with deep cracks and two ripped deck chairs. Liberty walked in a crouch to the window, then peeked inside. Two men—the same two who had taken them from the mine in their truck—faced a battered kitchen table, their backs to her. On the table was a laptop displaying a map of green terrain. One pointed to an area on the left side of the map, and from their body language it was clear whatever they were discussing was serious business.
Maybe even deadly.
* * *
His brother was alone, as far as Tate could see. He rapped on the window with his knuckles. Braden looked like he was still asleep, but at the slight noise he lifted his head and glanced toward where Tate stood outside. His eyes widened, an initial flash of surprise, which didn’t spell anyt
hing good. Braden’s gut reaction to seeing Tate was narrowed eyes and lips curled up in distaste. Like he didn’t have time for this, even though he wasn’t doing anything more pressing.
Tate motioned to the door, indicating to his brother that he should come out. Braden straightened out of the couch, his build very much like their dad’s had been—long limbs, shoulders not nearly as wide as Tate’s. It was hard to watch him move when he’d inherited their father’s bearing.
Tate hadn’t gotten much of anything, except his mother’s ability to snap when she was mad. Her temper had been explosive, making her boys and husband band together in defense when that monster reared its head. Tate smiled at the memory of being fifteen, out in the garage with Braden and their father, lifting weights and waiting for Mom to cool off.
Braden opened the front door and lumbered out. “What do you want?”
It hurt to look at his face. So much of their father was in him, and yet Braden threw it away. Discarded all the good things he’d been given for the sake of solace found in substances that tore his body apart. Made his eyes red. Made his face worn and pale, looking older than he was.
“Crashed for the night with some Russians?” Tate asked.
“Wild party, what can I say? Sometimes you just fall asleep where you’re at.” Braden’s attempt at humor was unconvincing.
“So you were partying with them. It wasn’t just a ride home?”
Braden sniffed. “Why does this sound like an interrogation?”
“Maybe because two guys who live here kidnapped me and Liberty last night.”
“Liberty’s here?”
Tate ignored the comment. They’d only met once. “Those guys were likely going to kill us.” He paused to make sure Braden’s brain had caught up with what he was saying. “So I came here to find out who’s behind a missing plane and the people on it, and who is trying to frame me for it all.”
“Yeah, heard you were in some trouble.”
“So you do know something.”
“I know you’re gonna want to watch your back.” Despite his bravado, Braden frowned. “Didn’t know Lib was involved.”
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