by Cat Connor
My mind mumbled inside itself searching for a happy place before he yanked the wood right out. Mitch. I closed my eyes and went to Mitch. He was checking on the progress of tonight’s dinner. Whistling. Whistling. I liked that he whistled. I felt Kurt’s fingers grip the wood. Mitch turned around. He looked right at me and smiled.
With one hand on my other shoulder, Kurt pulled.
Violent, sharp pain shot through me.
“Fuck,” I groaned and took a slow, shallow breath.
“Sorry, Conway. A few more minutes, the wood is out, here.” He reached around and handed me a two-inch piece of wood that resembled a knife blade. It was about three-quarters of an inch across at the widest point. Nice splinter.
I fought my way back to Mitch. He looked at me and frowned then picked up his phone from the counter.
My phone rang.
Weird.
“What happened?” Mitch asked.
“Got a bit of wood in my back.” Talking wasn’t easy. Kurt was poking around in the wound and it hurt. “How did you know something happened?”
“I heard you.”
Once upon a time, that would’ve made no sense at all.
“Can’t talk long,” I said. My reasoning stayed within my mind because it made little sense now. I have to go because I don’t want you to hear how hard it is for me to talk normally while Kurt is sewing up my back.
“You are okay?”
“Yes. Just uncomfortable.” I changed the subject. “How’s dinner?”
“Looks good, be ready soon.”
“Don’t suppose you could slow down the cooking process?”
“I’ll do my best,” Mitch replied.
“I’ll try to be there before the chicken shrivels.”
I hung up as the suture needle made its first pass.
Ten minutes later, with the wound on my back covered with a waterproof dressing, I had my holey shirt back on. Kurt helped me with my jacket.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome. Everything feel okay?”
I moved my shoulders and stretched a little. “Yep.”
“Go easy on those sutures, Conway. No acrobatics until I take them out.”
I smiled. “Deal.”
“Now let’s go get a head count and make sure all our people are accounted for.”
We took Troy and left the delicious aromas of the Hard Rock Café behind.
I looked around for Caine. A hand went up from down the street amidst the disarray and waved. Caine. A smile grew. He was okay. He made his way to us – I was in no hurry to go near the mess. I was almost part of it. My thoughts stopped at that. ‘What if’ is not a game that should be played.
“Where were you?” Caine asked. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
“In my office,” I said. I saw a piece of my desk. “And now it’s there.” I pointed.
“Everyone is accounted for, except Troy.” Caine looked over my shoulder. “I see you found him.”
He stood beside Kurt; shell-shocked aptly described his expression.
“About that. We have a disciplinary meeting with Troy next Monday. He had the entire Operation Visitor case file on a flash drive and all the deleted video footage on another.”
Caine’s lip twitched. “We’ve been here before,” he said. His attention turned to Troy, his tone hostile. “For your sake I hope you can explain this come Monday. Go home, agent.”
Troy said nothing. He turned and walked back up the street.
“Surveillance,” I said. “I need people on him twenty-four-seven until Monday.”
We were pushed to the limit. I needed to call in some favors. Again.
“We’ve activated an emergency terrorism protocol. FBI have point on this investigation but all policing agencies are involved.”
I leaned forward and whispered, “Renegade?”
“Angel,” he replied.
So he was on board Air Force One and would be airborne until further notice. I blinked to clear dust from my eyes. Looking back at the rubble-filled street in front of me, I saw flames trailing behind a plane. A fireball raced through the cabin and a chunk of wreckage landed by my feet. Not good.
“That could be what they want.”
My internal screen flicked to another scene. A missile fired. It tracked something in the air. The plane? Air force One?
“Ellie?” Caine motioned for me to walk with him. We walked up the middle of the road until we were level with Ford’s Theater. “Explain, could be what they want?”
“Ground to air missile, just thinking out loud,” I said, hoping he didn’t ask for more of an explanation. I didn’t have one.
“The plane is escorted.”
I knew that. But still I saw flaming wreckage.
“What if they don’t care? What if there is more than one missile tracking the plane? What if the escort is taken out?” My fingers tightened around the handle on my laptop case.
“Where is this coming from?” Caine’s lip twitched.
My phone rang. Iain Campbell. “I need to take this ...” I said, holding my phone up. Caine nodded.
Iain’s voice flowed from the phone in my hand, “You’re okay, good. Drone above you. I saw what you said to Caine. If you’re right …”
“Saw?”
“Drone can see with amazing clarity and I can lip read.”
Of course.
“If I’m right, now what?”
“Now, I make a call. Time to play hide and seek with Angel.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
I hung up and smiled at Caine. “We’re being watched.” I pointed to the sky. “Campbell will take care of the potential angel problem.”
“Good, now surveillance for Troy. Give it to Transit.”
I frowned. “Transit?”
“Yeah. Transit.”
“Okay.”
“Hand the surveillance job to Transit and then go home, Ellie.”
“I can’t go home … have you not seen the state of the city?”
“It’s an order. Go home.”
“I need to meet with someone over at the Secret Service first. Send Kurt home too.”
“Take Kurt with you to your meeting then both of you are to go home. I’ll be in touch and let you know where our temporary office is in the morning.”
“Are you planning on using the Washington field office?”
“All going well. Otherwise, we’ll cross the river and come set up at your place.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “That idea isn’t top of my list.” Wouldn’t be the first time my place had become a temporary base but I’d prefer it not to be. “Let’s use the field office.”
Caine twitched. “Now, hand over the surveillance job and get to that meeting.”
We walked back to the throng of orange and yellow jackets, crime scene tape, triage areas, flashing lights and noise. Kurt was in a triage tent. It’s what he did and who he was.
“Hey, we’ve been ordered home but first a meeting with Secret Service.”
I waited for the argument. Nothing. Damn. Whole new level. Rachel. That’s why no argument. Rachel. My how our priorities have changed.
“I’m ready to go,” he said, handing paperwork to a woman wearing a flight suit.
“Where’s Rachel?”
“My place with Olivia.”
“We had a car. Where the hell is our car?” I looked around hoping something would jog my memory.
“On Penns,” Kurt replied. “Come on.”
That’s right, we left the car on Pennsylvania and walked to the Newseum. The walk down Pennsylvania to find the car was slow going. We found the car then started planning a route out. Getting out of the area would be fun. So much destruction. People everywhere. Car and trucks abandoned by their owners. Emergency service vehicles with rolling lights. Thankfully, no sirens. Barricades in place, preventing people getting too close to the Newseum. Most of the intersection blocked.
&nb
sp; My eyes scanned faces, searching for familiar people on the sidewalks. At one point, I thought I saw Danni Lane. Odd.
I let the face drift in my mind. The next thing that caught my attention was a black Sharpie. It drew the outline of a room. An office. A glass-topped desk and leather chair. A laptop. The room shimmered and the outlines filled in. Color flooded the scene. When the chair turned, I saw Chance. He grinned.
“Hey, Ellie, my office this time. Nice to see you in here.”
“Nice office, don’t know what I expected but not this …” Stylish, modern, light.
“You had a question?”
I nodded. “What sort of research do authors who write thrillers do?”
“You mean how hands on is the research, don’t you?”
“Yeah, and also how realistic is Lane’s writing?”
“That’s a question for Kurt, he’s read her. As for research, I thought they mainly interviewed people and maybe fired a gun or two.”
“Kurt, yeah, and thanks.”
“You all right?”
“Think so.”
“Take it easy.”
The room faded; Chance waved before he disappeared.
Kurt reached out and turned on the radio. News. Public service announcements: Washington effectively closed.
“I have a question,” I said.
“I’m listening.”
“How realistic is Lane’s writing about the FBI, and me in particular?”
His head nodded as he frowned. “She’s close, very close. The reactions of her main character are very similar to yours. And she’s got a good handle on how we work.”
“Fascinating.” I leaned back, trying to get comfortable.
“Back okay?”
“Yeah, just feeling bruised.” I thought about what Kurt had said and what Chance said for a few moments. “Okay. How is she so accurate?”
“Research?” Kurt offered.
“Of course,” I replied. “But how is it conducted?”
“Interviews.”
“Yeah well, I’ve never been interviewed.”
“Maybe she’s a stalker?”
“Shit, you’re funny.”
Kurt laughed.
Thirty minutes later Charlie ushered us into his office.
“Crazy out there?” he asked, pointing to chairs in front of a bank of screens. “Have a seat. I imagine you’re quite busy.”
I smiled and nodded. “Renegade is still airborne?”
“Yes.” He didn’t query how I knew.
“Show us the tapes from the day Caroline Clancy visited the White House.”
“They’re ready to go,” Charlie said and reached past me to press two keys on the keyboard in front of me.
We watched in silence until a dark-haired woman approached the gate and admitted at a security checkpoint. I paused the video.
Kurt looked at me.
“That looks like Danni Lane,” Kurt said leaning forward for a closer look.
“Yeah, it does,” I agreed.
Charlie intervened. “We have a copy of her photo identification.” He flicked through some paperwork on his desk and handed me two sheets of paper. “Virginia State ID card and a current Virginia driver’s license.”
I looked at the pictures.
“What did she enter the White House with? Do you know?”
He nodded and picked up another piece of paper. “Cell phone, wallet, car keys.”
“And she left with?”
“Cell phone, wallet, car keys.”
I stared at the image on the screen. Screened. Searched. She had three things with her.
“Can we see the footage from inside, please?”
“Sure.” Charlie pulled up another camera, same day, ten minutes later.
Watching Danni and two other people walk through the public areas of the White House was a yawn-worthy exercise until Clancy knelt down to re-tie her sneaker lace. As she stood up, she used a desk as support. A Secret Service agent nearby said something to her and she appeared apologetic and moved away.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the desk.
“A desk that belonged to one of the First Ladies.”
She touched it.
She touched it.
I rewound and watched the shoe tying again. She took something from between her laces and the tongue of her shoe.
What?
“Has that desk always been there?”
Charlie thumbed through more papers. Then opened a filing cabinet and pulled out a file. More thumbing.
“I found it. It was recently returned after resurfacing. It’s been back in that room for eight days.”
“Where did it go?”
“A restoration company in New York.”
“I need the address and everything you have about that company. Also, no one goes in that room until the bomb squad clear it.”
Charlie leaned on the desk, a frown creasing his brow, worry filling his green eyes.
“We sweep for bombs, bugs, and electronic devices three times a day.”
“Humor me, it’s better than going bang.”
He nodded.
I picked up the phone on his desk and used it to call the bomb squad. So very pleased that POTUS was airborne.
“I have another question …”
“Go ahead,” Charlie said.
“How fucked do you think we are right now?”
Charlie grinned. “About as fucked as it gets.”
That’s what I thought and yet, Caine had ordered us to go home.
“Keep in touch, Charlie. Keep your head down and stay out of that room until it’s clear.”
“Will do.”
We left.
My mind rolled scenarios like cigarettes.
How could Danni Lane be Caroline Clancy? One was a New Zealander and the other an American.
It didn’t make sense. The week didn’t make sense.
Kurt broke into my thoughts. “Let it go, Conway. I’ll check on our electronic surveillance and the surveillance team when I get home.”
“How’d you know I was thinking about her?”
“Really?”
“Nah.”
Eighteen
Just Give Me A Reason
Opening the front door, I gave in to the urge and called out, “Honey, I’m home and I’ve had a hard day.”
Mitch emerged from the living room. His laughter bounced off the hallway walls.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
We met in the middle of the hall. Again, I was filthy, covered in masonry dust and blood smeared. This time some of the blood was mine. He hadn’t seen that yet. Mitch held his arms out. I didn’t step into his arms right away.
A small frown creased his forehead. “Okay to hug you?”
“Yeah,” I took one step forward. “Just …”
“I’ll be careful.” His arms encircled me, avoiding the cut on my back, and everything melted away.
I don’t know how long we stood like that. It could’ve been a minute; could’ve been ten.
He whispered, “You’ve got time to clean up before dinner.”
I laughed. “Subtle.”
Mitch’s chest vibrated as he laughed with me.
“How’s your back?”
“It’s okay. I’m going to shower.”
“Need a hand?” I leaned back in his arms to see his face. Yeah, that wasn’t great. I attempted to hide a wince and failed. “Yeah, you do,” Mitch said without waiting for my reply.
My muscles were achy. The wound site felt bruised, it probably was, and I wasn’t sure how much movement I had in my right shoulder.
Half an hour later I sat at the dining table with a plate of the best-looking slightly dry roast chicken and roast vegetables I’d seen in ages and a glass of Pinot Gris. I rolled the stem of the glass between my fingers and thumb, swirling the contents. In the background, I heard a song. I smiled as I recognized it. “Angie.” I closed my eyes and listened for a bit.
“This is wonderful.” My eyes flicked to Mitch. His smile lit up his eyes and his whole expression softened.
“It was my pleasure.”
The song changed. “Far away eyes.”
Mitch transformed my house into a sanctuary from the storm that raged in our world just by being in it. My phone sat on the table by my right hand. The screen flashed then the phone rang. Kris. I was still waiting to hear from him about Danni’s whereabouts. I answered it with an apologetic smile at Mitch.
“What’s up?”
“We cannot confirm the whereabouts of Danni Lane.”
Crap!
“You haven’t sighted her at all?”
“No. The other two women are in the hotel room now. Lights are off. Have not seen Lane.”
“Thanks, Kris. Get some sleep. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.” I hung up, walked into the kitchen and put my phone on the counter. I hoped Lane was in the hotel room but I wasn’t counting on it.
I returned to the dining room and sat back in my chair. The music washed over me and filled the room, insulating us from the horror of the outside world.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. Loud, insistent, like a blowfly fighting its inevitable but excruciating death. I didn’t even look in its direction, just willed it to stop. No more interruptions tonight. I let The Rolling Stones “Beast of Burden” override the buzzing until all I heard was Mick Jagger.
“Excellent choice in music.”
“Thought I remembered you liking the Stones.”
He remembered everything. Every detail.
We ate and talked and talked and ate and drank our way through a bottle of wine. In the kitchen doing the dishes together, “Wild Horses” came on. Mitch turned it up, took my hand and pulled me close. Slow dancing in the kitchen to the Rolling Stones. My head on his shoulder.
And nothing else mattered.
An hour or so later we lay together in bed, enjoying the moment and each other’s warmth. The house was quiet. No distractions. No rush, no urgency. I silenced my mind and quieted the insistent voices that demanded I go back to work. If tomorrow never comes, all you have is now. There was no guarantee we’d be here again.
Mitch’s heart thumped against my hand. The constant beat was comforting and reassuring. I knew that we were meant to be. This was working. The world as I knew it might be exploding but I finally got something right.
My mind wandered into a safe space. There was nothing else, just Mitch and me. I drifted into an exhausted sleep.