Blindsided

  From that vantage point she’d be able to hear the guard return to the main lobby, and she’d have easy access to the emergency exit.

  Tara returned to her car, limping slightly—hopefully she was faking the injury—and drove away. Breathing a sigh of relief, Scott sent the text and drove the gray Accord around the edge of the parking lot, slowly approaching the building from the right side. If he arrived too soon, the guards would notice him on the perimeter cameras. Too late, and Valerie would be exposed with the alarm blaring.

  He kept the car to a crawl along the front of the building, his phone glowing blue in the dark as he kept his head down. Assuming the guards were paying attention to the cameras rather than the food, he tried to look like a lost man consulting his GPS.

  He stopped and unlocked the car doors, still staring at his phone as if nothing were amiss.

  Valerie burst from the door followed by an ear-shattering wail.

  The siren intensified as she opened the passenger door and jumped inside. As soon as her door shut, Scott whipped a U and stomped on the gas.

  “Did you get it?” he asked, fishtailing as he turned onto the main road and aimed for the on-ramp to Highway 28.

  She laughed, sounding a little bit hysterical, and patted her hip. “Got it.”

  Traffic was light, even on the Dulles toll road, and they made it back to Dan’s apartment in Falls Church in less than half an hour. Scott made sure Valerie got into the apartment safely, and then drove the car to a crowded street about two miles away, left the keys in the ignition, and limp-walked back to the apartment, his injured leg throbbing the whole way.

  The crisp air burned his lungs, and he pushed through the pain, driving out the chronic frustration and anger of the last few days in his eagerness to return to Valerie.

  How, in the middle of the biggest goatfuck of his life, had he met the perfect woman?

  His smile came unbidden and he breathed easier, pushing himself to move faster under the golden lamplight. All around him, families sat in their living rooms, celebrating their love for each other, sharing their gratitude.

  Scott wanted that with Valerie.

  After circling the apartment building to check for surveillance, he entered 9D and locked the door behind him still breathing hard.

  Her computer sat on the breakfast bar, its screen dark under the fluorescent kitchen lights, but she wasn’t in any of the front rooms. His gut tingled in alarm. “Valerie?”

  No answer.

  He bolted to the dark bedroom where he found her curled in a ball in the far corner, staring at the floor.

  “Hey.” He crouched in front of her, painfully aware of how sweaty he was. “What’s wrong?” he asked, dread etching his insides.

  “The emails are gone.”

  “What do you mean they’re gone?” Scott’s voice was level but grave.

  God, how could she have been such a fool? Her enemy was smart. Apparently, smarter than her. She had failed herself, and worse, she’d failed Scott. “I’m sorry. The drive was completely overwritten with duplicates of a single image file.”

  She cringed and shook her head.

  “What?” he prompted.

  Staring at her hands, she said, “It was a grainy picture of me ‘loitering’ in front of the cubicle where I hid the flash drive. Duncan must have had someone review the security tapes after I ran.”

  “Or maybe he had someone watching you on the inside too.”

  Nausea climbed her throat. “I should have guessed he’d find the drive, but I assumed if he did, he’d take it. When I popped the cap and found it there, taped inside, just as I’d left it…”

  Scott took one of her hands and then tipped her chin up so she had to look at him. “Don’t get angry at me for not throwing shit, okay?” He flashed a weak smile and her heart lifted an inch.

  If she was thankful for anything on this day—on every day—it was him. She squeezed his fingers in gratitude.

  “I’m completely knocked back by this,” he said, “but we knew it was a possibility. We just have to regroup and figure out something else.”

  “I know.” She nodded. “I just wanted this to be it,” she said, balling her hands into fists and holding them up to her face. “I typically have endless patience for this kind of thing. It’s not unusual to spend months working every angle to hack a client. I am relentless. Relentlessly curious and driven by the need to solve the puzzle. But my life never depended on the outcome before. I’m so… I’m tired.” Of running and hiding and waiting and hoping and failing.

  He smoothed back the hair near her face and stroked her cheek. “Me too, baby.” His kiss was a too-quick brush of the lips. “But together we’ll beat Hollowell. Maybe not today, but we will win.”

  She had foolishly pinned all her hopes on the emails, knowing the risk and not wanting to face failure. But Scott was right. There were other options—longer options that meant more time as fugitives—but they weren’t dead in the water. Still, who could blame her for wanting a normal life right this minute? One where she and Scott could see if this relationship worked when they weren’t under duress. One where they could live in the open instead of huddling in the shadows like spiders under a bookcase.

  He stood, sweat still glistening on his brow. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Then we can eat something and figure out what’s next.”

  They’d both been too keyed up to eat earlier, and despite her despair, hunger gnawed at her belly. “I’ll heat the frozen pizzas.” She kissed him and went to the kitchen to turn on the oven.

  The water started running in the bathroom. Any other time, she’d surprise him in the shower—they could both use a pick-me-up. Instead, she turned back to her computer. She’d laid some groundwork on several forums, looking for anyone with info on Duncan, rumors about who he might be working with, past transgressions that weren’t public knowledge.

  She’d even considered doxing the guy—putting his personal info on the web—to get others to help her with her dirty work. But if his wife or kids got hurt, she’d never forgive herself.

  While the oven heated, she flipped her laptop around and woke it from its sleep. The worthless flash drive they’d risked their lives for stuck out of the computer’s USB port, a hateful reminder that they had nothing.

  Her heart slammed against her sternum. “Oh, shit.”

  Initially, she hadn’t worried about inserting the drive because it was hers, seemingly undisturbed, untouched. No threat. And her antivirus software hadn’t alerted her. Then, she’d been so distracted by her failure, she hadn’t even thought about what other files might be hidden on the tiny device. The kind of files she would have deployed if she were her old boss.

  Damn damn damn damn damn.

  Yanking the drive from the computer, she stuffed it into her pocket. Then she logged into her computer and disconnected from the WiFi.

  Probably too late.

  She stuffed the laptop and power cords into her bag, and ran to the bedroom where Scott had just emerged naked from the shower, all lean muscle and delicious bare skin, running a towel through his hair.

  “Get dressed,” she said, scrambling to grab what she could. “We have to get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” He donned a pair of boxers and grabbed for his jeans.

  “I’m an idiot. I didn’t check the drive, but there’s a good chance Duncan knows where we are right now.”

  “Shit,” he said, buttoning his pants. Superman couldn’t have dressed faster.

  In under a minute, she waited by the front door wearing a snow cap, heavy jacket, and gloves, bag packed with the essentials, especially her money.

  “Scott?” she called toward the bedroom, wondering at the unexpected delay. Hadn’t he been right behind her? His winter gear was next to the door. What the hell was the holdup?

  He emerged from the room, switching off the overhead light on his way out. His backpack was looped casually over one shoulder, but he didn’t look ready to
run. Instead, he held one of the burner phones to his ear.

  “My name is Scott Kramer. I’m a wanted fugitive.”

  Valerie’s jaw unhinged. “What are you doing?” she asked in a stage whisper.

  He shook his head and made a silencing gesture with one finger as he strolled casually into the kitchen and turned off the oven.

  She sputtered. His actions were so outside the unexpected, she couldn’t even form a coherent response. Betrayal stabbed her hard and fast like a dagger to the heart.

  “Yes, ma’am. That Scott Kramer.” Regret crossed his handsome features and he held Valerie’s gaze as he said, “I’d like to turn myself in.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Falls Church, VA

  Thursday, 7:50 p.m.

  SCOTT COULD HARDLY BEAR THE shock, anger, and confusion on Valerie’s beautiful face. But he couldn’t think of another option to keep her safe. If Hollowell’s men were outside, especially a sniper, they didn’t stand a chance if they left the apartment.

  But if the police showed up, Hollowell’s guys wouldn’t come anywhere near them. Scott hoped.

  He relayed his address to the woman on the phone.

  “Is Valerie Sanchez with you?” the operator asked, her tone as calm and bland as if asking about the weather. Despite the situation, he couldn’t help but admire her professionalism.

  “No.” Scott cleared his throat. “No, we split up.”

  Valerie reached for the doorknob, but he grabbed her arm through the thick jacket. “Wait,” he mouthed, not letting go.

  “Do you have any weapons in the home?”

  “Just a knife,” he told the operator. “I left it in the bedroom.”

  “There are several units on their way to you now. When they arrive—”

  He hung up. Sirens were already audible from several blocks away and he needed to talk to Valerie.

  “Are you crazy?” she cried.

  “Probably. This is the only way I could think of to keep Hollowell’s men from getting to us first.”

  She stared at him.

  “If they see the cops, they’ll stay back. Hollowell wants us dead, not caught, but they’re not stupid.”

  Her expression might have softened a fraction, but she was still pissed. “Then I’ll turn myself in too.”

  “No. We don’t have any evidence yet and you’re the only one of us with the skills to get it. You can’t do that from jail, baby.” Jail. Fuck.

  She sobbed. “You promised you’d stay with me.”

  He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. God, he didn’t want to give her up. Not now, not ever. But he couldn’t let the cops—or Hollowell—have her. He slipped a hand behind her head and said, “You can do this.” He punctuated his words with a quick kiss. “I need you to do this. It’s the only way we both get out of this alive.”

  “But what if he can get to you in jail?” she whispered.

  “I can take care of myself,” he said, not denying her concern. Or alleviating it.

  “You realize Dan’s going to get in trouble too.”

  Dammit. Scott honestly hadn’t given his friend a thought, but what choice did he have now? “Once we’re acquitted, he should be fine.”

  She bit her lip and hesitated, but she must have decided that his option was the best choice they had under the circumstances. Her gaze strayed to the floor and she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Valerie,” he said, her name light and fragile and precious on his tongue, like a new snowflake. Leaning in, he kissed her hard and deep with a dizzying intensity that left them both panting. “No matter what happens,” he rested his forehead against hers, “I love you. Nothing changes that.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, without hesitation. The look in her eyes was both fierce and full of anguish.

  He wanted to cry.

  Reaching under his jacket, he whipped the HOG’s tooth over his head. “Take this.” He looped it around her neck and tucked it inside her jacket. “For luck.”

  “Scott, no.” She pushed at his hands.

  He gripped her wrists gently, feeling her pulse race against his fingertips. “Keep it safe for me. They’ll just take it away during in-processing.” He liked knowing that his pendant was being warmed by her skin. That she would have a piece of him with her no matter what.

  She took a deep breath and nodded as she stepped out of his embrace. “What’s your plan?”

  Arms already aching with her absence, he gave her the three-second version.

  Outside, the sirens stopped.

  His lips brushed hers one last time. It wasn’t enough, would never be enough. “Ready?”

  Without answering, she looped her bag over both shoulders like a makeshift backpack and dropped to her knees.

  Red-and-blue lights flashed through the spaces around the living room blinds.

  Scott gripped the doorknob. You can do this.

  You need to do this.

  He opened the front door and stepped into a blinding spotlight, hands held high.

  At his feet, hidden from sight by the low brick safety wall that ringed the exterior walkway, Valerie crawled on all fours toward the inner corridor that bisected the building and housed the stairs.

  It also housed the laundry room.

  “Scott Kramer?” one of the cops said through a bullhorn. Three others stood behind their car doors and trained their rifles on his chest.

  His throat turned dry. Maybe it was a mercy his victims had never seen him coming. “Yes.” He nodded in case his hoarse reply wasn’t loud enough and kept his hands up.

  Valerie disappeared from his peripheral vision as she crawled around the corner. Hurry.

  The cop with the bullhorn said, “Don’t move. I have—” She waved toward someone to Scott’s left. “Ma’am, get back inside and lock up behind you.”

  A loud slam came from a couple doors down, followed by the thunk of a deadbolt sliding home.

  “I have three rifles trained on you. Keep your arms up. There’s a team coming your way.”

  The rest happened in a blur. Within seconds, cops swarmed him from both sides, yelling commands, grabbing him roughly as they pushed him to the ground with his hands at his back. Cold concrete skinned his cheekbone. A knee impaled his back. Cuffs were clamped on his wrists.

  He didn’t resist, didn’t speak.

  A broad-shouldered officer used Scott’s elbow to tug him to his feet and started reciting his rights as he marched him toward the staircase. In the parking lot, he was stuffed into the back of a squad car that smelled faintly of vomit, though the hard plastic seat appeared clean enough, and the interior was blessedly warm.

  He leaned his head against the cool window. The cops stood in a huddle outside, their mouths emitting frozen puffs of air as they talked. The whole scene was too familiar. At fifteen he’d been scared out of his fucking mind.

  Not much had changed.

  Two weeks ago, he would have done anything to avoid going back to jail.

  Now, he’d skip through the goddamned doors if it meant keeping Valerie safe. As safe as she could be out there on her own. He clenched his fists. Had he screwed up? What if he got himself arrested and Hollowell got to Valerie because Scott wasn’t there to protect her?

  Calm. The fuck. Down. Valerie had done fine on her own for a couple of weeks. Sure, he’d been watching her, but that meant he knew how well she could take care of herself. She probably didn’t need him at all, and might even be better off without him around as a distraction.

  She might be better off without him period.

  A selfish part of him hoped she never realized it, even as he prepared for the worst.

  His only crime was aiding and abetting a fugitive—which technically made him an accessory to any of her crimes—but if he were convicted for murdering the FBI agents, all the love in the world wouldn’t save him.

  Four mind-numbing hours later, Scott had waited in a lobby chained to a chair, taken a piss in front of a sheriff’s
deputy, visited the magistrate to have his charges reviewed and approved, suffered a humiliating in-processing complete with strip search, given up all his belongings, donned prison-issue scrubs and laceless shoes, and now lay on the top bunk of his assigned cell at the Arlington Detention Facility.

  Midnight came and went.

  He traced a thousand invisible designs on the painted brick ceiling as the strange, yet familiar, sounds of jail at night filtered into his cell like an awful serenade. Locked in.

  He shivered and closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was on bivouac, resting in a sniper hide somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. His battered psyche knew better, though, and little things repeatedly yanked him back to reality.

  The adult detention center was different from juvie, but jail was jail.

  Just like when he was fifteen, disinfectant didn’t cover the stink that reminded him of a high school locker room after a football game. Inmates postured and formed cliques, trying to build a rep and stay safe. Scott was still isolated despite the crowd. Up until now, he’d only returned to this place in his nightmares.

  This time he wasn’t waking up. And he sure as hell couldn’t sleep.

  He knew why the elephants and gorillas and tigers at the zoo paced in their enclosures. He understood why chimps beat the walls and beautiful birds squawked in frustration at their clipped wings.

  The fact that he’d sacrificed his freedom for a woman he loved—both times—couldn’t dislodge the boulder sitting on his chest. Maybe he was a fucking coward, but he had no illusions about prison life, and this was no kiddie lockup. If he were convicted and sent to federal prison for life—or, God forbid, death—he’d wither on the vine.

  His patience might be legendary, but that ability came from knowing there was something to be patient for. How did one calmly face every day if there was no future? No point?

  Could he really live for postcards from his mother and Valerie, assuming either of them communicated at all?

  Jesus. He sat up and rubbed his face. Where was his faith?

  It could take months—maybe years—but Valerie would find a way to exonerate them both. He had to believe that. Being locked up again had brought him back to age fifteen so viscerally that he could hardly breathe.