by Beth Rhodes
Emily cleared her throat. “Sorry. It’s…um, coffee.” And wishing you were with me. “Coffee helps—”
“Look, I can’t make it,” he interrupted her. “And I don’t want you coming over to headquarters today.”
“You don’t want me? Look,” she said. “I pretty much do what I want these days. Ya know?”
He growled a little, and she bit the smile from her lips. She wasn’t trying to tease him, but she would need a better explanation than he didn’t want her to. “What’s the matter, John?”
“There’s a media frenzy. Overnight, the parking lot is filled with reporters, vans…you name it. They’re here. Not only the local news, either. You made national news yesterday with your saving shot.”
“Well, shit.”
A knock sounded at the front door.
“Double shit.”
“What?”
“Someone’s at the door.” This was the safe house, though. No one knew she was here—not anyone who mattered, right? “Who could have found me here?”
“No one. Sit tight. I’m…calling someone.” Frustration was a low, gravelly tone she’d never heard from him before. “If I try to get over there now, they’ll follow me. Have you met Elizabeth Whitney?”
“Sure. She’s Tancredo’s—wife?”
“Girlfriend, yes. Okay. I’m sending over her brother, Jay. I’ll send you a text with his photo.”
The pounding got louder. There was no way a neighbor was causing such a racket.
“I think the jig’s up, John.” She moved into the living room and pushed aside the curtain on the front window. A bright flash blinded her and she dropped the dark material. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“The media whores found me.”
“Be there in three.”
“Ms. Rogers, a few questions,” some tenacious journalist said loudly through the door.
Emily wouldn’t call it yelling. Oh no. Too professional for that, and she had to give him a little credit. “They have my name,” she said.
“They know your name?”
Emily remained cool, even as she could feel the panic building in the back of her mind. This was her new world. A new job meant different expectations, different parameters. The idea of having her name out there was scary. “Scary shit,” she whispered, and then watched as John’s truck pulled past the house and went around to the alley out back.
Ignoring the reporters, she sipped her coffee again and turned back to the kitchen where John would come in. Looking down, she shrugged. Sweats. Bare feet. Old t-shirt that had a hole under one arm. “Great, Emily. Way to make an impression.”
The door out back opened and shut quietly a moment before John walked through the door.
And his gaze found her; he looked her up and down with eyes that about ate her up.
“Geez, John. If you keep looking at me like that—”
“Sorry. You look really good.”
A laugh escaped. “I shouldn’t be laughing.” But he looked good, too. “Right back at’cha.”
His smile came slowly, making her heart flutter. The silence of the moment struck.
“Hey. I think the vultures are gone.” As if the living room held its breath, the stillness gave an eerie chill to the air, and the quiet—pregnant with what’s-next—sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m sorry to cause so much trouble,” she said.
“Forget it. I should have known.”
“How? Are you psychic?”
Staying off to the side, he lifted the curtain, same as she had, and glanced out. “No. I just never thought—”
The glass window shattered in front of him and Emily screamed as instinct forced her to duck and cover.
“Stay down,” John yelled to her.
She crouched and came around the large couch. He caught her gaze, and it was so intense, her heart pounded.
“I said stay down,” he growled.
“I’m down.”
“Fucking snipers—again.”
She swallowed. She knew the feeling. “This has happened before?”
“Man came after Hawk last year. Shot out headquarters.” John slowly rose.
“John,” she said with a frown.
“We’re going to make a run for it,” he said, staying crouched and heading toward the front hall. “Get your go-bag. My truck’s out back.”
She ran for the stairs and took them two at a time. When she hit the landing, a shot came through the window and embedded into the wall next to her. She squeaked, embarrassingly.
“Emily?”
“Fine,” she yelled as she ran to her room and grabbed her bag from the closet floor. Instead of going toward the front of the house, she took the hallway to the narrow set of stairs at the back.
She’d only been there a little over a week, but she had a go-bag. Maybe that should have been her first clue that things weren’t as easygoing at Hawk as they seemed. During the first day, when she’d filled out paperwork and taken the time to write up a will and get her paycheck direct-deposited into her account, a go-bag had been on that list.
She made it to the kitchen and heard the deep, throaty start of John’s truck out the back door. A quick glance showed he had the passenger door open for her and was sitting behind the wheel. Waiting a minute to take account of herself, she saw all the vulnerable spots in the small backyard—the house to the south on the opposite side of the alley that had an attic window, glaring down at her, and even the office building two blocks north that rose ten stories and looked over the entire neighborhood.
A sniper could be anywhere.
Didn’t she know?
She knew.
And she ran. Eight long strides to the picket fence along the property line at the back, where she jumped and dove into the truck as the dirt kicked up behind her.
“Go,” she ordered at the same time as John stepped on the gas.
She fell back into the seat, quickly turned, and strapped herself in.
Chapter Nine
“What the hell was that?” Emily looked back, peeking around the headrest. A stock and barrel came out of her go-bag, and she screwed them together. She exuded a badassery he couldn’t ignore because it was an unexpected turn-on. She was hot.
John laughed and checked the rearview. “Hell if I know.” He paused, glancing at the gun in her hand. “That’s probably unnecessary…illegal, even.”
She sent him a sharp look filled with reproach. “I’ll get your back, illegal or not, thank you very much.” Then she blew out a breath, relaxing a little. “Where we going?”
“We’ve got a tail. Black sedan; been back there since we pulled out of the neighborhood.” When she turned to look, he barked, “Keep down.”
“Calm down. I’m peeking. Hard to believe whoever is back there would open fire on the road.”
He started cutting back and over through downtown and then headed south. When he took the next one-way the wrong way, he finally lost the guy. A minivan honked at him, and he smiled and lifted his hands in that I’m-lost kind of way before pulling off the road on the next street. Then he headed toward south on 401 until he hit I-40 and put them on the route west to the Hawkins property.
“Call Hawk,” he said to his phone, and waited for his boss to answer. “We’re headed your way.”
“Either of you need a doctor?”
He glanced her way. “No, we’re both fine.”
“Pull around back, just in case.”
“Got it. Be there in twenty.” They worked the same scenario in emergencies. The team would debrief there. Malcolm would show up with his computer gear and use what Hawk had at the house. A plan would be set, if one was needed.
The biggest question: who in hell was shooting at Hawk Elite now?
“I never should have come here.” Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear her.
“We don’t know what’s going on, so let’s not jump to conclusions.”
She made a noise of disbelief.
Emily had her door open as Malcolm roared in beside them and cut his engine.
A bird chirped in the chill of the air and a breeze blew through the tall trees at the edge of the yard, sending brown, yellow, and red leaves to the ground.
Stacy met them on the porch.
“Hawk’s waiting downstairs.”
John nodded. “Thanks, Stacy.” With a hand on Emily’s elbow, he led her down the hall to the familiar operations room in the basement. A panic room of sorts, it had two entrances—one from the kitchen and one from outside, fifty yards at the back of the house, deep under the cover of the surrounding forest.
He always thought the setup was on the side of paranoia.
But having worked with Hawk for so long, he understood the measures weren’t unwarranted.
Hawk sat at his desk in front of his voice-activated computer. “Just got off the phone with the local PD. They’ve got a man on site. They’ll want to talk to both of you. Emily?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The media picked up on your involvement this week.”
“Yes, sir.”
“People I know tell me Hassan is dead.”
“Yes, sir.” Her entire body was stiff with the discomfort of talking about her past. “I’ve heard the same.”
Hawk waited. “Truth is, no one wants to claim it. And no one’s seen hide nor hair of Hassan in over a year, not even for a funeral. No one’s seen his associates or his family, either. It’s as if they dropped off the map.”
“If you need me to step away from Hawk Elite, sir, all you have to do is ask.”
John crossed the room, took her go-bag from her hands, and set it aside with his own by the wall. “That isn’t going to happen.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Hawk said at the same time as John. “John recruited you. Because of that, your face has been smeared all over the news for the past two days, and now your life has been threatened. The problem is that at Hawk Elite, we don’t really believe in coincidence. So, my question for you is…have you had any contact with previous associates since you’ve been here?”
She shook her head. “If people are in danger because of me, I think I’d rather step down.”
“You’re safer with us,” John said, frustration rushing through his veins. He’d convinced her to join and then mostly convinced her to stay. “What about Eddie? Would he have said something to someone?”
“No.” She frowned at him. “Eddie’s the only person I completely trust right now. As far as I know, someone at Hawk Elite could have spilled the beans.”
“No way—”
“I’m looking into every possibility,” Hawk said her, shocking John with his admittance.
“This team is strong because we all trust each other,” John said.
“I know that. You know that. But for an outsider—or someone new—it’s not as easy. Craig struggled, same as Emily will. It’s only fair to ask around and check every possibility.”
Every possibility, meaning he would question the team.
“The timing is too close. You know that.”
“I’ll have to look at Tyler as well.”
John ran a hand through his hair. “Emily saved Tyler’s daughter. Why would he want to harm her?”
Hawk shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
With a scowl, John went to the small kitchen, pulled a mug from the cabinet at eye level, shoved it under the Keurig drip, and pushed the brew button. Malcolm was there leaning against the counter, a grin on his face. “What are you smiling about?” John asked, not expecting an answer.
Malcolm shrugged, winced when he did so, then crossed the room to his black bag, where he pulled out his silver laptop and set up at the second desk.
“I really don’t want to cause this kind of trouble,” Emily said, her gaze following Malcolm as well. “I’d be safe at home. I should go home. I’m more hidden there, more under the radar than I’d be here.”
But John could tell that she’d packed her bags and was opening the café tomorrow morning, this little jaunt back into the business behind her. As if she’d given it a shot and was done.
“I guess it’s true, then.”
“What?”
“I kept thinking, all this time, that you needed a nudge, a hand up.” He’d been wrong, though. “You really are a quitter.”
A fire lit in her eyes. “This isn’t quitting. This is protecting innocent people. Coming back was scary, yes. But do you know what’s scarier?”
His eyes devoured that fire as he shook his head.
“Staying when it makes me as lethal as I was with a rifle in my hand.”
“Then stay,” he said. “Stay until we figure out what the heck is going on and put an end to this streak of bad luck that’s following you around.”
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s—”
Hawk came between him and Emily, when John hadn’t even realized they’d gotten close, hadn’t seen his boss stand up and move forward. “How about a compromise?”
John backed up and blew out a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. Our goals are the same,” Hawk said as he turned to Emily. “You’re part of the team now, Emily. You agreed, you came, and you’ll take the benefit of working with me, with John, with Hawk Elite.”
Worry covered her face as if she didn’t understand. “But what if—”
“We will find out what’s going on, and we will protect you.” Hawk made a half-turn to John. “How about a visit to Idaho?”
“Idaho?” Emily looked from John to Hawk and then included Malcolm in her inquisition. “What’s in Idaho?”
John grinned. “Home.”
Chapter Ten
St. Louis, Missouri
Driving all the way to the Arch, the gateway to the west, in one day was insane. But John had insisted on it. He’d wanted to put as much road under them as possible.
In the compact car, which Hawk had pulled out of his ass—okay, his hidden garage on the back of the property—Emily had driven some, slept some, and for the last five hours, had held the fact that she needed to urinate. They’d barely made it into Missouri when John finally pulled over and stopped at the first dumpy motel he could find.
She cringed a little at the blinking sign over the two-story lodging.
But at this rate, she just couldn’t care. She needed a bathroom and bed, in that order, as quickly as possible. John reached across her lap and opened the glove compartment. He pulled an envelope out before snapping it shut. “Be right back,” he said.
Her foot tapped against the floorboard and she blinked against the harsh light that shone through the glass front of the building. “Hurry, hurry, hurry,” she muttered. She reached for the last bottle of water she opened.
The lady behind the counter smiled up at John, and her mouth moved as if she had all the time in the world. “Come on. Come on. Come on. Yes, he’s handsome. Yes, he’s charming. Of course he’ll stand and chat with you and make you smile.”
Finally, sure she couldn’t hold it another second, positive as soon as she stood up she’d probably wet her pants, Emily got out of the car. She almost wept when, thankfully, she didn’t pee. She ran for the front door and slammed it open when it was lighter than she expected. “Hurry,” she demanded, feeling bad but not really caring anymore. “I need the key—please.”
John held out an actual key on a diamond-shaped green keychain.
She reached for it. “Room?”
“Ten,” he answered, a little too happily.
Back outside, she hurried down the line of rooms until she got to the one on the end. The door swung open, and she crossed orange shag carpet to the gold-flecked bathroom that had three off-white flower-shaped plastic decorations down
one side. The door on the left opened to the toilet and a shower. Clean, thank God.
She didn’t bother closing the door, just sat and did her business.
As relief filled her and the sound of John coming in behind her became her reality, horror filled her. “I’m sorry. Don’t come this way,” she said. “I really had to go.”
She heard him drop his key on the table and their bags on the floor.
Finished, she stood and took a deep breath. “This is so embarrassing. I’m not usually so…um, I don’t even know what.” Leaving the bathroom was a necessity, but all of a sudden, she didn’t want to. “Don’t be an ass, Emily,” she reprimanded herself, which actually helped her foot move over the threshold.
John had come in and fallen to the bed in the middle of the west wall. And he slept. Not quiet sleep, though. He breathed heavily in the silence, almost a snore.
Quietly, she washed her hands.
She wasn’t the only one who’d suffered through their long trek from the eastern seaboard and into the Midwest. In a way, they were on the run and pushed into hiding by circumstances.
Behind them was an unknown, someone who wanted to hurt her or John.
But ahead of her was something as frightening—John’s family.
She only had to know John to know they were going to be healthy, well-adjusted, probably Christian people who should turn her around at the door but wouldn’t. A glance at John’s sleeping form had her considering how far she could get if she slipped out while he wasn’t looking. The keys were right there next to his wallet and that envelope from the glove box. So tempting.
One step. Two. And she was standing over the table, biting her lip as she fought with herself.
“Don’t even think about it, sister.”
Emily’s gaze flew to John, whose eyes were open and looking at her. Heat rose on her neck. “I’m not.”
“You were totally thinking about it.”
She shrugged. “I wish I knew what the hell I was doing, John. Why am I on my way to Idaho with you?”
“Because you like living more than being shot down in cold blood?”
“What if it’s you the shooter was after?”