He darted his gaze at the Suburban as she scrounged for a pen. She didn’t have one, but he did, and she plucked it from his shirt pocket.
“Spit it out! Then you can go!”
He rattled off a five-digit number, and she wrote it on her hand. Then she ran back to Derek, who was folding down the Suburban’s backseats.
“Gimme a hand with that end, okay? I’ll take the weight.”
“Be careful!”
Could they detonate the bomb by bumping it? She had no idea how fragile it was. Derek lifted it practically by himself, then maneuvered it into the back with a grunt, and she could tell it was heavy. He slammed the doors, making her nerves jump.
He rushed around to the front and hitched himself behind the wheel. “Listen up, Liz. In fifteen seconds, I want you to lower this door.”
She looked at her watch. “But—”
“Fifteen seconds, whether I’m in or out.”
Her heart squeezed. “I’ll come with you.”
“You stay here to close the door.”
“But—”
“I need you to trust me.” He cupped his hand around her face. “Okay?”
He’d trusted her. Over and over today, he’d allowed her to do her job, even though she knew he hated seeing her exposed to danger. She glanced at the tunnel, and her eyes filled.
“Fifteen seconds,” she managed to say.
He yanked the door shut. With a squeal of tires, he took off into the tunnel. Another squeal as he rounded a bend. Elizabeth clutched her hand to her throat.
She checked her watch. Twelve seconds.
Her chest tightened. She looked at the chaos around her—people coming and going, firefighters, stadium workers, mothers and fathers and couples and kids.
Nine seconds.
She glanced at the keypad. She peered down the darkened tunnel and stepped inside. The air was cool and damp and smelled like diesel fuel. She strained to hear over all the noise, but she couldn’t make out anything—not the distant grumble of an engine or the pounding of footsteps.
Six seconds.
Her stomach twisted. She walked back to the keypad and held her finger over the buttons. She read the numbers on the back of her hand.
Three seconds.
Come on, Derek.
Two seconds.
Tears stung her eyes.
One second.
She sucked in a breath. With a trembling finger, she keyed in the code. Her chest caved in as the door started to lower.
“Derek!” She peered into the dark void. The door slid lower. “Derek!” She rushed back to the keypad, clenched her hands into fists as the door slid closer and closer to the concrete.
Behind it, the slap of boots on concrete. Her heart lurched.
“Derek, hurry!” She reached for the keypad just as he rolled under the door, Indiana Jones–style.
“Oh, my God!” She grabbed his arm as he sprang to his feet.
“Come on!” He took her elbow and rushed her at full speed to the nearest exit.
“How much time—”
Her words were cut off by a deafening boom.
They dropped to the ground. Shock waves reverberated around them, and she was on her hands and knees on the concrete, stunned speechless.
Derek pulled her to her feet. “Come on, haul ass. They’re at the hotel across the street.”
“Who is?”
“The tangos. Cole spotted the Sentra.”
He pushed her through the exit, and the summer heat hit her like a wall. Sirens and bullhorns filled the air as emergency workers corralled people into human rivers flowing away from the stadium. Parents carried crying children. Couples clutched each other as they trudged along. Elizabeth saw firetrucks everywhere but no fires or smoke. Yet.
“Did you get it contained?” she yelled at Derek.
“Let’s hope. Look!”
She followed his gaze over the crowd-flooded street to a hotel. She spied the maroon Sentra parked in front. A man in the cobalt-blue uniform of a ballpark staffer was getting into the passenger’s side.
She and Derek broke into a run, dodging around huddles of people, squeezing through barricades. A cop tried to stop her, but she shook him off and kept going.
Derek surged ahead, plowing through people like a running back. He neared the hotel just as the Sentra pulled into traffic.
The back window burst.
Elizabeth looked around, startled. Who was shooting?
The car lunged forward, and people scattered and yelled as it pulled into the traffic-clogged street. Derek was close behind, but his hands were empty. Who fired the shot?
The Sentra hung a left at an intersection, and another crack split the air. The car sagged with a flattened tire.
Derek turned and gestured for her to take the driver’s side as the doors were flung open.
A woman jumped out. Blue uniform, long auburn hair streaming behind her as she fled down the street.
Elizabeth broke into a run. Her pulse pounded as she dodged around people and hurdled obstacles. She sprinted down the sidewalk. She was gaining, gaining, closing the gap. Fatima glanced back over her shoulder, losing a half-second advantage.
Elizabeth tackled her, and they skidded together over the pavement.
“FBI! You’re under arrest!”
The woman kicked and flailed, and Elizabeth dug her knee into her back as she fumbled for her handcuffs. What the hell?
With a shot of panic, she remembered Derek swiping them from her back at the pawn shop. She glanced around desperately and spotted a cop on horseback clomping across the intersection.
“FBI! I need a hand here!”
He stared down at her from the saddle as Fatima struggled beneath her, squirming and yelling.
“Gimme some cuffs!”
He seemed to snap out of his stupor and produced a pair of handcuffs from his duty belt. He tossed them over, and Elizabeth snapped them onto Fatima’s wrists.
The cop slid off his horse and walked over. Another officer jogged over from across the street, weapon in hand.
“What we got here?”
“This woman is in federal custody.” Elizabeth held up her badge as the cop’s gaze darted over her shoulder. His expression changed. Elizabeth whipped around.
She saw Derek across the street, kneeling beside a park bench.
Her heart jumped into her throat. She turned back to the officers.
“Guard this suspect! Do you understand? She’s responsible for this attack.”
They nodded briskly, and Elizabeth rushed across the street, clutching her gun. Derek was on one knee in the center of a park with his pistol aimed at Ameen.
Who had a young boy clutched in front of him like a shield and a gun pressed against the boy’s head.
“Give it up, Zahid.” Derek’s voice was strained.
Ameen stepped back, dragging the terrified child with him. The boy was ten, maybe eleven. He had red hair and freckles, and Elizabeth guessed the sobbing woman behind Derek was the mother.
“Now, Zahid.”
He continued to back up. Elizabeth spotted his objective: the taxi idling beside the curb. The cabdriver seemed to realize it, too, and jumped out of the car as Ameen stepped closer.
“Don’t do it,” Derek warned.
The boy sent his mother a panicked look as the terrorist tightened his grip and pulled him toward the cab.
Crack.
Ameen dropped to the pavement. The boy fell to his knees. Derek launched himself across the sidewalk and snatched up the kid. Elizabeth sprinted over to the terrorist, who was sprawled on the sidewalk with the contents of his skull splashed across the concrete.
Cops converged on the scene, shouting and barking orders as Elizabeth stared down at the corpse, dumbstruck.
She looked up at the skyline, scanning the windows and rooftops. Several black-clad Secret Service snipers caught her eye. So did the missing window on the office building across the street.
She
looked at Derek.
“Cole?”
He nodded. “From up in the office building.” He stepped over. “Fatima?”
“In custody.”
“You okay?”
She looked up into his eyes. There were so many things she wanted to say, to tell him. But her throat felt swollen, and she couldn’t get her mouth to work. She looked down at the dead terrorist, and a realization hit her. This was her case, her crime scene. She had to lock away her emotions and take charge here.
“Liz?”
She met Derek’s gaze. “I’m good. Let’s get this done.”
* * *
It was three A.M. by the time Elizabeth made it back to the office, where the bullpen was packed with what looked like every agent in the state, plus reinforcements down from Washington. She wove her way through the crowd and found Gordon in a conference room talking on the phone, surrounded by legal pads and Styrofoam coffee cups. When she stepped into the doorway, he glanced over and wrapped up his call.
“The evidence response team’s still at the ballpark,” she informed him. “Hazmat’s there, too. Decontamination is going to take a while.”
“I heard. Shut the door, would you?”
She complied. But something in his look told her not to take a seat.
Gordon leaned back in his chair and watched her. His shirt was wrinkled, and for the first time since she’d met him he wasn’t wearing a tie. “We’re making progress with Fatima,” he said.
“I thought she wasn’t talking.”
“She’s not,” he said. “She asked for an attorney almost immediately and hasn’t said a word since.”
Elizabeth could only imagine Derek’s reaction to a terrorist using the Constitution of the country she’d just attacked to protect her from its legal system.
“We found her phone,” Gordon continued. “The real one, not a burner. It was on the floor of the Sentra. Our techs are working on it now, analyzing every call she made from every location she made it, trying to get a handle on who else was involved in this.”
“That’s good news.”
“Vincent Planter’s also helping us on that front.” Gordon raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “Although the charges against him at this point are unclear.” His gaze settled on her. “Given the unconventional nature of his arrest.”
Elizabeth bit back a comment. “Where’s Lieutenant Vaughn?” she asked. “I was told he and Petty Officer McDermott were back here for a debriefing.”
“In custody.”
It took her a moment to process the words. “They’re—what?”
“They’re being held at the Travis County jail until this gets sorted out.”
“What’s to sort out? They just risked their lives defending their country against a terrorist attack!”
“They also discharged firearms in a public place. We’ve got two bodies in the morgue and a lot of questions flying around.”
She gaped at him. “That’s outrageous.”
“That’s reality,” he said. “And I’m working on it, but it might take some time.”
She edged closer to the table and glared down at him, her current boss who outranked her by about fifty levels, and she didn’t give a damn, because she was furious. “You have to fix this! You caused this. You lured Lieutenant Vaughn into this investigation using me as bait! You think I don’t know what you did?”
“I didn’t—”
“Those SEALs are involved because you involved them! They were your insurance policy in case we failed to do our jobs. Without them, we’d have mass casualties on our hands, and you let them go to jail?”
“I didn’t let them go anywhere,” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually in control of everything that happens in the Department of Homeland Security.” He stood up, looking immeasurably tired, but she had no sympathy. “This is a complicated situation, LeBlanc.”
“That doesn’t—”
“Sit tight.” He patted her on the shoulder and pulled open the door. “I’m working on it.”
Fuming, she watched him walk away. Derek and Cole were in jail. Even if Gordon tried to fix the situation, the arrest put their careers in jeopardy.
Potter appeared at her elbow. She blinked at him, unable to believe he was still wearing a coat and tie at this hour.
“I heard about Vaughn,” he said.
If he said anything about “extreme measures,” she was going to slap him. Instead, he took out his wallet and tugged out a business card.
“Sounds like he could use a good lawyer.” He handed her the card. “Just so happens I know one.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Elizabeth stepped into her hotel room and leaned back against the door. Sunlight seeped through the gap in the curtains. She looked down at the bed she’d shared with Derek just last night.
Or the night before. Timing was a blur. Her brain felt like oatmeal. Her eyes stung from fatigue, and the entire right side of her body was covered in road burn from her struggle with Fatima.
She dug her phone from her pocket and dialed the lawyer Potter had recommended. The man was a nationally known criminal-defense attorney, but he was Washington-based, and his influence didn’t extend to Houston, from what she could tell.
He answered, and she snapped to attention.
“Hi, it’s—” She cleared her throat. “This is Elizabeth LeBlanc with the FBI. I’m calling to get an update on—”
“They’ve been released.”
Relief swamped her. “Oh, my God, thank you.”
“I wish I could take credit, but I had nothing to do with it. The jail supervisor told me they were picked up an hour ago.”
A rap on the door behind her made her jump. She peered through the peephole.
“Thank you. So much. I have to go.” She stuffed the phone into her pocket and jerked open the door.
“Hey,” Derek said.
She threw her arms around him. He was warm and solid, and he smelled like fresh soap.
She pulled back and gazed up at him. “You’re really out?”
“I’m really out. We both are.” He glanced over his shoulder, and she noticed his truck parked across the lot. With Cole in the passenger’s seat. And then she noticed his damp hair, his fresh T-shirt.
“You’re leaving.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.
“I came to say good-bye.”
She stared up at him and felt her throat close. She didn’t trust herself to talk, so she just stood there. He was leaving. And all she wanted to do right now was drag him into the room with her and tackle him onto the bed. His eyes simmered.
“I can’t,” he said quietly, reading her mind.
She nodded. “When will you—” She caught herself. Why bother asking? It would only spark an argument. “I can’t believe you were arrested,” she said instead.
“I can. But they dropped everything when we agreed to the cover story. The Secret Service thwarted an assassination plot and took down the terrorists.”
Her eyebrows tipped up.
“With help from the FBI,” he added.
She glanced past him at Cole, and her stomach tensed. “So . . . will you make it back in time?”
“If we shotgun it.”
She looked into his whiskey-brown eyes, searching for a reflection of all the emotion she was feeling. But he seemed so calm, so okay with everything, and meanwhile, she was on the verge of tears.
His gaze softened. “Come here,” he said, pulling her into a hug, and she felt the tears spill over. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight. He kissed the top of her head.
“I hate this.” Her words were muffled against his shirt. “I never wanted to be the weepy girlfriend begging you not to go.” She squeezed him tighter. “But I don’t want you to leave.”
He pulled back and looked down at her. “So that’s it, then? You’re my girlfriend?” He cupped her face in his hands and brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “Because I’m going
to be gone for a while, and I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
Her stomach flip-flopped. A long-distance relationship. She didn’t know if she could stand it. She didn’t know anything except, “I love you.”
He smiled and kissed her.
She pulled back. “But Derek—”
“Always a but.”
“This is going to be so hard.”
“Hard is good,” he said firmly. “Hard tests your commitment.”
“But it’s going to be really hard. Harder than before, and that was hard enough. I hated that. I—”
“You’re right, it’ll be hell. But we’ll take it one day at a time. That’s the only way to do it.” His look was intent, and she felt a flutter of hope. He wanted to do this. “There’ll be times when I can’t call you or write, but I need you to have faith. I need you to know I’m thinking about you.”
And she’d be thinking about him, too. And all the anxiety came back and made her chest ache. She’d be thinking about him dodging bullets and bombs, and there would be so many sleepless nights. She was already miserable just knowing it, and her eyes filled up again.
His eyes filled, too, but he smiled down at her.
“Why do we do this to ourselves?” She swiped at her cheeks.
He kissed her. And his arms wrapped around her, warm and strong.
She melted into him and felt his kiss, and it filled her heart with so much love she thought it might burst. And she tried to savor it, tried to drink in enough emotion and courage and lust and friendship to sustain her while he was away.
He pulled back and looked down at her. “That’s why.”
* * *
Hailey sounded surprised to hear from him.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Back on base.” A Humvee zipped by, and he turned away from the noise.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” she said. “I figured the Audrey Hepburn movie marathon scared you off.”
“Yeah, well. Nice try, but SEALs are tough to scare.” He tried to keep it light. Maybe then she wouldn’t realize it wasn’t the classic movies that made him sneak out of her room at the crack of dawn but the fact that he was a complete and total coward.
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