“No, nothing yet. It looks like Medrano and his men are running even later than you are.”
“Or maybe we were given the wrong address,” Noah suggested.
“What are you talking about? And where are you?”
“Two blocks south of you.” At the next intersection, he did a U-turn and pulled to the side of the road. “Do me a favor and run these plates.”
Noah recited the license plate numbers to him and then shifted to make sure there wasn’t anyone visible on the street.
Several long seconds passed in silence. Then Devin’s voice came back over the line, and this time he was all business. “Both vehicles are registered to Alabaster Industries, one of Medrano’s holding companies.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.” Noah pushed his way out of his car and immediately shifted his phone to his left hand so he could draw his weapon with his right.
“Stay where you are. Carter and I will be right there.”
“It’s the third street on the left, past the auto supply warehouse. The two trucks are parked right outside.”
“We’re on our way,” Devin said.
Noah silenced and then pocketed his phone. Cautiously, he worked his way from the adjoining street and edged forward until he was pressed against the side of the building. He peered around the corner and saw a man standing by the passenger side of the truck closest to him. He was dressed casually in khakis and a working-man’s collared shirt. There was no reason to believe the man was involved in anything illegal, except that he was standing next to a vehicle that belonged to a known criminal.
Noah heard at least two other men’s voices and suspected they were in the back of the truck. Only an open parking lot occupied the space between Noah and the vehicles, forcing him to remain hidden until his backup arrived. He heard Devin’s car make the turn toward the warehouse before he could see it.
Noah peeked around the corner once more, this time to see the man closest to him open the truck’s passenger-side door and stand behind it like it was a shield. He had apparently also heard the car. As though the men already knew who was inside the approaching sedan, several more men appeared, holding automatic weapons.
The shock of seeing the unlikely scene unfold lasted only a fraction of a second. Before Noah could utter a sound, the men opened fire on Devin, forcing him to swerve off the road into the parking lot across the street.
Determined to protect his fellow agents, Noah shifted into the open, leading with his weapon. “FBI! Freeze!”
The men turned their guns toward Noah, but not before he sent several shots their way. The first shot missed, but his second and third hit their target, and one of the men dropped to the ground. Two other men opened fire, forcing Noah to duck back behind the wall he had used to shield himself from sight.
Bullets ricocheted against the metal siding, and Noah could hear an exchange of gunfire directed away from him. He sent another barrage of bullets toward Medrano’s men, and he caught a glimpse of Devin and Carter doing the same.
The men scattered behind the trucks and then disappeared inside the building. Before Noah could decide whether to move closer or not, the rolling metal door at the loading dock rattled open and someone shifted into the driver’s seat of the far truck, backing it closer to the loading platform.
A few more men took defensive positions and exchanged more gunfire until the truck tires squealed in the men’s attempt to pull out of the parking lot. Noah heard Carter’s cry of pain when a bullet seared through him but kept his focus on the gunmen.
Two men lagged behind to continue the battle, but then one of them sprinted after the truck closest to him, nearly managing to boost himself onto the rear fender before the truck turned the corner and sent him flying onto the pavement. The second continued shooting until Devin returned fire and stopped him.
Noah reloaded his weapon and surged forward. He spotted a man down on his hands and knees in the middle of the road; he appeared to still be well enough for questioning. Noah was fifty yards from him when he saw the back of one of the trucks open enough for someone to take aim. Noah dove for cover just as the man dropped lifelessly onto the pavement, a casualty at the hands of his own coworkers.
Stunned, Noah could only stare and wonder who would ever choose to work for Medrano, knowing that any kind of failure meant certain death.
Chapter 4
Kelsey heard the rumble outside, her dreams shifting to include the noise. She could see the tanks thundering down the center of the street, women running with their babies in their arms, their children clinging to their robes as they tried to find shelter before the coming battle. She could see herself on the edge of the battle as rebel forces prepared to face the latest uprising.
The noise drew closer, and Kelsey stirred. Images of Bharat faded as she struggled to place the sound. The whole house shook, and instantly, Kelsey was wide awake. Her right hand reached under her pillow in a practiced move and reappeared a split second later with the gun she kept there. She looked around the room, aiming the gun as she did so.
Disoriented, her eyebrows drew together in concentration, several seconds passing before she realized where she was. This was her childhood bedroom, complete with framed photographs of her high school tennis team and a group photo from her senior prom. She shook her head and tried to clear the sleep from her brain. She didn’t know why she still woke up each morning expecting to find herself back in her tiny chambers in Abolstan, but even after a month away from Salman, the knowledge that she was currently free of that life still hadn’t sunk in.
The house rattled again. She tensed briefly before logic surfaced and relief flooded through her. Quantico. The sound of battle wasn’t a battle at all. It was only practice for one. The Marines were out at their artillery range doing target practice, an exercise always evident to their close neighbors.
Her heart still racing, she let herself fall back onto the bed. Kelsey lowered her weapon as she tried to analyze the other sound that had woken her: an engine of some sort. A truck perhaps? She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, hindered by the pain that shot through her thigh. Wincing, she kept one hand on her gun and used the other to reach for her cane. Gingerly, she made her way across the room to the window but stopped when she heard footsteps overhead.
Her hands came together on the gun, her muscles now rigid as her cane dropped to the floor. She swung the gun toward the ceiling. With her body now pressed against her bedroom wall, she shifted to peer through the tall window framed by gauzy white drapes. A blue work truck sat in her driveway, but she couldn’t see any logos that might indicate who owned it. A few feet to her left, she saw a tall ladder and tried to fathom why anyone would be so obvious about climbing on top of her house.
Convinced that someone was after her, that Salman’s men had come to take her back, her eyes searched for activity in the street and neighboring yards. But as she did so, her mind fought back her paranoia.
Salman didn’t know where she was, and even if he did, his men weren’t prone to clandestine entrances. Their arrogance practically ensured a front-door entry.
After another quick peek out the window, she leaned down and picked up her cane. As quickly as she could manage, she made her way downstairs and then to the front door. Her gaze lifted upward when more footsteps sounded overhead, followed by a scraping noise. She looked out and saw something fall from above. Shingles?
Two more trucks pulled up in front of her house, and a moment later, she caught sight of Noah walking down the sidewalk toward them. He waited for one of the men to climb out of the cab, and then they chatted amicably, the other man pointing at the roof. That’s when Kelsey noticed the writing on the door panels of the recent arrivals. Ryan’s Roofing.
Feeling suddenly foolish but still confused, Kelsey set her weapon down on the table in the entryway, unlocked the door, and stepped outside, still wearing her pajamas. The men in the street turned toward her, and she didn’t miss the confusion on t
he foreman’s face or the rigidness of Noah’s shoulders. Despite his tense posture, he plucked the baseball cap off his head and offered a friendly wave. She didn’t wave back. She recognized the instinctively friendly gesture, but the CIA had trained it out of her years ago.
Before she could walk toward Noah, a new sound caught her attention, the rumble of another engine. Her heartbeat quickened, and she looked over at her next-door neighbor’s yard. A lawn mower.
She let out a sigh. The sound shouldn’t have been so foreign to her. After all, she had spent her childhood waking up to that sound on most Saturday mornings. She simply hadn’t heard it in the last two years. Lawn mowers weren’t necessary in the desert.
Another piece of her roof fell to the ground, and she lifted her eyes skyward. Two men were at the apex of the house, the front section of the roof already stripped off.
Concern now visible in his eyes, Noah jogged toward her. “You’d better go back inside. You don’t want to get hit by the shingles they’re throwing down.”
With an automatic nod of agreement, Kelsey stepped back inside and left the door open so Noah could follow. His gaze immediately landed on the entryway table and the gun on top of it. “Is that yours?”
“I’m not feeling as safe here at home as I used to,” Kelsey said in what she hoped was a casual tone.
“So you reached for a gun?” Noah asked skeptically. “Why do you even have one? I know your dad doesn’t keep any weapons in the house.”
Rather than answer his real question, Kelsey focused on his intimate knowledge of her family. “How would you know that my dad didn’t keep a gun?”
“Because he told me so.” Noah waved toward Kelsey’s weapon. “Don’t you think you should put that away? I don’t think these guys plan on stealing anything.”
Relieved that she had succeeded in distracting Noah from the reasons she owned a gun, she put one hand on her hip and motioned toward the window with the other. “Who decided it was time for a new roof?”
“Your dad.” Noah waved absently toward the yard. “He tried to have it done right before they left, but we had so much rain, the roofers had to push it back.”
“That would have been nice to know yesterday,” Kelsey told him pointedly.
“Sorry. I was just a little distracted trying to protect your house from intruders.”
Her lips quirked up. “Right.”
His eyes lowered to take in the baggy T-shirt and flannel pajama pants she had slept in. “I gather the noise outside woke you up. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay.” Kelsey’s shoulders lifted. “I need to adjust to this time zone anyway. I’m still a little jet lagged.”
“Your parents mentioned that you’d been living overseas, but I don’t think they said where.”
“I moved around a lot,” she said vaguely as her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
He shook his head.
“I was thinking about making some blueberry pancakes. Would you like some?”
“That sounds great,” he said, hesitation in his voice. “I don’t want to impose though.”
“It’s not an imposition. In fact, it would be nice to have someone else eat some of them. I always make too much.”
“In that case . . .” Noah smiled and took a step forward. Kelsey was surprised that she took an instinctive step back to keep a comfortable distance between them. He was at least six inches taller than her, maybe five foot eleven, and she could see the subtle bulge beneath his T-shirt where his weapon was holstered at the back of his waistband.
Feeling a little awkward, she led the way into the kitchen and started pulling out the ingredients for pancakes, trying to recall the recipe she had once known by memory. “How long have you been with the FBI?”
“About three years.” He answered automatically. Then he hesitated and asked, “How did you know I’m FBI?”
“Besides the fact that you announced yourself when you pulled a gun on me yesterday?”
“Oh yeah.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I guess I did tell you where I work.”
“It would have been obvious even if you hadn’t told me. Only someone from the FBI or Secret Service would carry a gun while talking to my parents’ roofers. Most other government types don’t have to be armed all the time.”
“Impressive reasoning.” Noah leaned his elbows on the serving bar across from her.
“Not really.” She shrugged. “I still don’t know why you’re at my house so early on a Friday morning.”
“I promised your dad I’d meet the roofers since he couldn’t be here.”
“Did you take leave because of my parents’ roof, or do you normally work late hours?”
“I took some comp time. I had a late night last night,” he said before smoothly changing the subject. “So tell me, what do you do for a living?”
“Nothing too exciting.” She slid a mixing bowl out of a cabinet and started measuring out ingredients. Her focus stayed on her task as she added, “I’ve been working as a nanny for the past couple of years.”
“I didn’t think nannies got to travel that much.”
She shrugged. “The family I worked for moved around a lot, so that meant I did too.”
“I guess that makes sense.” He watched her while she pulled an electric skillet out of a cabinet and plugged it in. He motioned to her cane. “What happened to your leg?”
“I was in an accident,” she said, automatically censoring her answer. “That’s why I’m home. To recover.”
“Have you written that e-mail to your parents yet?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I e-mailed them last night, and then my mom called a little while later.”
“How did that conversation go?” Amusement filled his voice.
“She didn’t tell me the roofers were coming this morning either.”
Noah chuckled. “Did she offer to come home to take care of you?”
“No, I managed to head off that idea before she could offer.” She stirred the flour into the pancake mixture and then started folding in the blueberries. “Although I think I may have gotten cornered into coming home for Thanksgiving when she found out I’ll only be here for a couple of months.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not bad, just not likely. My schedule isn’t very flexible, especially around the holidays.”
“How long are you staying here before you go back to work?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She kept her focus on the pancakes, carefully pouring the batter onto the hot griddle. “The agency I work for said they had a temporary job for me starting in a couple of weeks.”
“Then I guess I should tell you that your parents’ master bathroom is being remodeled on Tuesday.”
She looked up. “Seriously?”
Noah nodded, and she noticed the amusement in his expression. “Your parents actually have several renovation projects planned while they’re gone. They thought it would be easier to have the work done while they weren’t home to be bothered by it.”
She pulled open a drawer to retrieve a spatula, and the knob fell off in her hand. A look of horror crossed her face. “Not the kitchen too.”
“They start that on Wednesday.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“I only live two houses down. I’ll show you where I keep my spare key, and you can use my kitchen any time you need to.”
She looked up at him, astonished that he would offer his house to a relative stranger. “Do you always give random people your house key?”
“Not exactly.” He circled to the other side of the kitchen counter. With a familiarity that still surprised her, he opened the second drawer from the end and plucked a key chain out of it. “You already have my house key. I was just offering to make sure you knew where it was.” He shrugged. “Although, you should probably move it before we pack everything up.”
“I can’t
believe I’m about to live in a construction zone.” The sound of hammering pounded overhead.
“I think you already are living in a construction zone.”
Kelsey retrieved two plates from the cabinet and piled pancakes on both of them. She set them on the counter, along with the butter and syrup.
“These look great.” Noah waited for Kelsey to sit beside him. She didn’t notice that he had folded his arms, anticipating a blessing on the food, until she had picked up her fork. She fumbled when she saw him watching her and quickly set her fork back down.
“Did you want me to bless the food?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She folded her arms, her embarrassment quickly fading as she listened to his short prayer. The words were not unlike those she had recited in her head at so many of her meals over the past two years, but hearing them spoken out loud was oddly liberating.
After he finished blessing the food, Noah took a bite of pancake and let out an appreciative sigh. “This is good.” He savored the first bite and took another. “Really good.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”
He waved his fork toward the griddle on the counter. “Maybe I should borrow that while your kitchen is being remodeled. That way you can make these over at my house too.”
“Did you want to borrow the bread maker too, just in case?”
“Oh yeah,” he said enthusiastically. “That’s a great idea.”
Kelsey shifted and studied Noah more closely. “Did my mom spend a lot of time feeding you?”
“Only when the family came to visit and on holidays . . .” He seemed to consider for a moment. “And on Sundays and most Thursdays . . .”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Do you actually own pots and pans, or is your kitchen just a room that holds your refrigerator?”
“I have the basics.” He shrugged. Then he seemed to consider. “I have to go into work for a little while today, but if you don’t have plans for tonight, maybe you can come over and I’ll fix you dinner.”
“You can cook?”
“I can grill,” Noah said with a grin. “I should be back around five. Why don’t you come by around six.”
Deep Cover Page 3