Blindsided

  Her heart sped up, excitement warring with disbelief. I own you now, asshole.

  She resisted the urge to let out a triumphant whoop, but allowed herself a quick fist pump.

  Without delay, she directed the entire contents of TRAVEL to upload to a public folder she had on a cloud service, not bothering to check all of the files for relevant content. She could pick through them later.

  A loud engine rumbled down the street and stopped in front of the house with the squeal of worn brakes.

  Valerie bent over and squinted through a gap in the hedge. “Shit.”

  A package delivery truck was parked in front of the house on the other side of the road. A thirty-something man with an athletic build jumped down, opened a roll-up door at the back, spilling rap music into the frosty air, and hefted a wide box, fast-walking it up the neighbor’s driveway.

  She let go of the breath she’d been holding and slumped back into the rocking chair.

  While the files uploaded directly from Duncan’s computer, Valerie switched to her email client and reviewed the draft of a message she’d written weeks ago. It contained a link to a web page she’d created to publicize any evidence against Duncan that she found and would be sent to a distribution list that included several journalists she admired, two random agents at the FBI, a Fairfax County police officer who had been her neighbor for a couple years, everyone at Aggressor, and the network administrators at the companies she’d been duped into hacking.

  Once the files were copied to the cloud, she’d find a place to go through them in more detail and post the most incriminating ones on the site. The only problem was that many of the recipients would fear clicking on any link she sent. For that reason, she had picked a popular blogging site and hoped that at least the journalists and feds would be willing to check it out.

  Thunk, thunk, thunk. “Hey,” a deep voice said, more surprised than suspicious.

  She jolted. The delivery man stood on the porch holding two shoebox-sized packages. A spike of adrenaline hit her like a lightning bolt.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked.

  Oh, God. Why hadn’t she kept track of him? How had she missed that his truck hadn’t started up again?

  “Uh.” She cleared her throat. “Just getting some fresh air.” She should have had a prop pack of cigarettes or something. Who else sat outside in weather like this? “My parents keep the heat jacked up. Old bones…” She gave him a conspiratorial smile and a little shrug.

  He narrowed his eyes at the darkened windows, but gave her an insincere smile in return and set the packages at the top of the stairs. “Okay, then. Have a nice day.” His shoes pounded the steps as he retreated.

  Dammit. He was so going to call the police. If this was his regular route, he probably knew who the neighbor was, probably knew that a woman sitting outside next to the Hollowell house with a computer was bad news.

  She snapped her fingers repeatedly at the computer. “Come on,” she said under her breath.

  Internet service providers prioritized downloading over uploading because most Internet users spent a lot more time downloading files—web sites, emails, and videos—to their computers and televisions than sending information back to the Internet.

  So, the files were only about half done. Not that she needed to stick around for them to finish, but she had planned to keep watch in case something went wrong.

  Now she had to bail.

  Damn damn damn.

  Her fingers hovered over the laptop monitor, reluctant to close the lid. Even now the cops could be on their way. What if they caught her as she ran away and no one knew what she’d found? Would they bother to look at the files?

  She couldn’t risk it.

  Working as fast as possible while keeping her ears tuned into the world around her, she modified her email message. She deleted all of the recipients except the reporters and systems administrators—no need to have Duncan’s own people alert him that she was in his home network, and given the holiday the others would likely take too long to view her message—then she swapped out the web page link for a direct link to her public folder on the cloud.

  Once she had the folder set to View Only mode to prevent someone from deleting the documents, she attached the three most incriminating files she’d found directly to the email message.

  Tires crunched the frozen asphalt and several smooth engines rumbled up the street, stopping just beyond her hiding space.

  Mouth dry, she leaned down again. “Dammit.” Two navy and white Fairfax County Police cruisers were parked at the curb.

  Valerie clicked SEND. Come on. Blood rushed her ears. She rocked anxiously in her seat as the message lingered in the Outbox.

  Come on, you lazy-ass mail server.

  Car doors shut quietly. A heavy shoe scuffed the concrete.

  The message sent.

  Valerie disconnected from Duncan’s router, slammed her computer shut, and stuffed the laptop into her bag. Rising to stand, she left the tote next to her feet.

  A woman in a gray and black police uniform with her blond hair pulled into a sleek ponytail approached Valerie with her hand on the gun at her hip. “Ma’am. Do you live here?”

  Better to be taken by the cops than by Duncan. “No. I’m Valerie Sanchez.”

  Within minutes, she sat shackled in the back of a police cruiser while the officers stood around talking.

  All around her, people had come out of their homes and huddled in small, animated groups in front yards and on sidewalks. Duncan strode onto his porch dressed in tan slacks and a white sweater, his wife at his side wearing a similar outfit.

  His gaze met Valerie’s and bounced away, as if loath to make any contact with a criminal. He leaned close to Cathy and opened his mouth as if to speak, and then did a double take. His eyes widened almost comically.

  That’s right, asshole.

  The color drained from his face.

  A woman in uniform approached his house and Duncan stepped back, bumping into his wife. Cathy rubbed her arm and narrowed her eyes at her husband. Her lips moved, but her words were inaudible from behind the bulletproof glass of the squad car.

  It didn’t matter. The high color in the woman’s cheeks and her pinched lips said it all.

  Duncan shook his head and pushed past his wife, his face a dangerous shade of red. She clutched at his sweater, but he shoved her away and fled into the house.

  It was his turn to run.

  Valerie let her head fall onto the hard seat behind her, closed her eyes, and smiled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Fairfax, VA

  Monday, 7:00 p.m.

  THREE DAYS LATER, DUNCAN HOLLOWELL was still at large. After finding a stash of foreign passports under a variety of names in his home, law enforcement and the press speculated that he had fled the country. His wife appeared appropriately baffled and betrayed.

  The sniper who’d killed the two agents to force Valerie’s escape and make her look guilty had been found dead in a D.C. hotel three days after the shooting, supposedly of an accidental heroin overdose. Jay’s murderer—a mercenary whom Scott had mistaken for one of the feds—and whoever had shot at them at the airstrip, were in the wind.

  Scott wanted Hollowell to pay for fucking up his and Valerie’s lives—even if he’d also brought them together—but he’d settle for never seeing the asswipe again. And for freedom.

  Both of them had been released from their respective jails this morning, directly into FBI custody. In exchange for all charges dropped, they belonged to the feds until the investigation was complete.

  The media weren’t told until after he and Valerie were in interrogation, and by the time Scott was allowed to leave the federal building in Alexandria at four this afternoon, the press was long gone.

  Kurt had given him a ride home, and then Scott had gone grocery shopping and basically kept himself busy until he got word that Valerie was done for the day. He hadn’t seen her since he surrendered to th
e cops on Thursday night, and his patience was shot to hell.

  Now it was six p.m., and Scott stood outside the locked entrance to police headquarters in Fairfax, in a yellow spotlight cast into the dark by a lamppost. The cold air turned every breath to frost, and for the first time in a long time he was frozen to his core.

  Everything hinged on this moment. What if Valerie had come to her senses during the last three days without him? What if she didn’t want an ex-con in her life? A killer at that.

  Outside, he was still as a statue, but inside he was a roiling mess.

  He was learning to believe that he deserved friendship and love, but it didn’t come easy. Up until last week, he’d still felt like the FNG—Fucking New Guy—at Steele, still felt like he was proving himself to the guys. Even after they all worked together in St. Isidore, he’d been an outsider. A Marine, not an airman. A sniper, not a PJ. Short and compact, not tall and broad. And at twenty-seven, the youngest of them all.

  But every single man at Steele—and Tara—had come to his and Valerie’s aid, never doubting or questioning that he was on the side of right, never stopping to consider the risk to themselves for helping him. He would have done the same in their shoes, yet it had still shocked him.

  On the drive to Scott’s apartment this afternoon, Kurt had even floated the idea of offering Valerie a job as a computer specialist at Steele. No one else would touch her right now, and the company could use someone with her skills.

  Why had Scott held everyone at bay for so long? He wanted their friendship, that sense of brotherhood and teamwork. Time to burn his hair shirt and start living. And loving. Otherwise, he might as well let the feds lock him up again.

  He shivered at the thought. Never. Again.

  Across the concrete pad, two figures appeared backlit in the doorway, and his pulse shifted into overdrive. The woman broke away and approached him slowly, her face hidden in shadow. “Scott?”

  He stepped toward her with his arms out, heart pinned to his chest. “Hey, baby.”

  She hesitated, and he stopped breathing.

  “You left me,” she accused.

  He swallowed hard and dropped his hands. “I’d do it again to keep you safe.”

  “Always the protector,” she said softly, moving closer.

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  Half laughing, half sobbing, she threw herself into his embrace. “I missed you,” she said against his shoulder, her grip around his waist like a vise as her escort disappeared into the building, leaving them alone.

  “Me too,” Scott said, his throat tight. “Me too.” He wanted to laugh and cry and shout and drop to his knees. Instead, he tipped her head back gently and pressed his lips to hers.

  She was as hungry as he was, and the kiss quickly turned frenzied. Thank God, thank God. He slipped a hand down to cup her ass and pull her closer.

  A sharp whistle of appreciation rent the air as a vehicle approached. “Woohoo! Get it on,” a man yelled through the window as the car passed by and rounded the corner.

  “Oh, my God.” Valerie broke away with an embarrassed laugh. “We should probably go.”

  Scott grinned and reluctantly released her, but held out his hand. “Come home with me?” He held his breath.

  She laced her fingers with his. “Yes.”

  Yes. He kissed her quickly and tugged her toward his Jeep, which sat in one of the nearby parking structures. They crossed the street and passed a small, empty lot where the city hosted a farmer’s market on the weekends.

  “Do you want to stop by your apartment for anything?” he asked.

  “Not really. I’m not ready to see it yet.” Her steps slowed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.”

  “Okay.” Maybe he could pack up all her stuff and put it into storage until she found a new place. Then, she’d never have to go back. He squeezed her hand. “You can stay with me as long as you want, but no pressure. If you’d feel more comfortable getting a hotel room…”

  “No.” She stopped and faced him, caressing his cheek. “I want to be with you.”

  She looked so different with her aggressive bangs and short hair, but she was still his beautiful, brave, intelligent Valerie. He ran both hands through her dark tresses and bent to kiss her warm, soft lips. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  His chest eased, and he rode the high. She loved him. She still loved him.

  “I suppose you have me to thank for your happiness,” a man said from Scott’s left.

  Hollowell.

  Duncan? Valerie hardly trusted her eyes. Shouldn’t he be in Fiji or something?

  Scott—ever the protector—moved quickly to put himself between her and her former boss. Then he faced the devil. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Valerie stood on tiptoe and peered over Scott’s shoulder. Duncan had a gun aimed directly at her lover’s chest.

  All the blood drained from her head and the world tilted.

  “Tsk, tsk, sniper,” Duncan said. “Poor situational awareness.”

  Under her hands, Scott tensed, probably berating himself for exactly that reason. “I figured you’d be out of the country by now.”

  Duncan cocked his head and caught Valerie’s eye. “We have a little unfinished business.”

  Neither of them spoke, but Scott must have sensed her restlessness because he threw an arm back to keep her hidden.

  “Thanks to you,” Duncan said, “the feds have frozen all my accounts. I figure you can help me get some of my money.”

  Valerie’s throat went dry. They were less than a hundred yards from police headquarters, and maybe double that from the county jail staffed with dozens of sheriff’s deputies, and there wasn’t a soul around to help them.

  “I think you overestimate my abilities,” she said. “I’ve never even tried to hack a bank.” Not entirely true, but a frozen account? “I certainly can’t do something like that in a few hours. You of all people should know that.”

  It would require days or weeks of learning the ins and outs of the target bank before she could even start thinking about how to approach it.

  “I don’t need you to hack a bank. There are plenty of other ways to use your skills to get money.”

  Her entire core churned like hot lava.

  Duncan made an impatient gesture. “Come with me now.”

  “Don’t move,” Scott urged, squeezing her hip.

  “Come with me or your boyfriend eats lead.” Duncan leered at them. “Live by the gun, die by the gun, right, grunt?”

  God, no. “Okay.” Valerie spun away from Scott and scooted out of his reach. “I’ll help you.”

  “Valerie, no,” Scott said.

  “It’s my turn,” she said. She hadn’t been able to protect her dad, but she could keep Scott safe.

  He growled in protest even as he kept his eyes on Duncan and his gun.

  She made eye contact with her former boss. “I’ll go with you, but only if Scott walks away unharmed.”

  “Goddammit, Valerie,” Scott said under his breath.

  Duncan produced a set of handcuffs and held them out. “Lock him to that fence,” he said, pointing to the low chain-link barrier that bordered the parking lot.

  She started forward, reaching for the cuffs.

  Scott exploded into action. He kicked Duncan’s right arm and the gun clattered to the ground, sliding out of reach as the man stumbled. Scott followed with a punch to the kidney.

  “Mother fucker.” Duncan came up swinging and caught Scott square in the face, knocking him back.

  Blood spurted from Scott’s nose. Valerie screamed and ran at Duncan.

  He produced a hunting knife and rolled to his knees. The blade in his grip was as long as her hand. Shiny, cold, deadly.

  She stopped several feet away, her body physically recoiling from the horrible weapon. The metal flashed in the lamplight, like a beacon of warning. Stay away, stay away, stay away, it intoned in a menacing voice, keeping
time with the frantic beating of her heart.

  In that moment, she was fourteen again, frozen in shock as an angry beast of a man lurched forward and sank a knife deep into Dad’s abdomen. He repeated the stabbing motion even as her father fell to his knees, clutching his middle, eyes full of surprise as he registered the blood on his hands.

  “Valerie, run.” Dad’s voice had come out strangled and hoarse, the spark of life already fading from his dark eyes.

  She had run. Straight onto the attacker’s back with a primal yell.

  But she’d been too late and too easily slashed open and too quickly cast aside to help.

  Her scar burned with the memory.

  Duncan pushed to standing. Scott sat up. Duncan lunged for the man she loved.

  “No!” She launched herself into Duncan’s path, using her body as a shield. No shock, no fear would hold her back.

  With a growl, he thrust his blade into to her upper thigh and tossed her to the asphalt. Her head bounced and the world went black.

  “Valerie!” Scott cried as she was shoved aside.

  Fear squeezed his chest in its iron fist and he ran headlong into Duncan, taking them both down on the sidewalk with a bone-cracking thud.

  Scott reached for the knife. Duncan gripped it with both hands and tried to swing it away.

  Enough of this fucker. Scott released the man’s wrists, catching him off guard. As Duncan’s arms snapped back, Scott unleashed his fists on the asshole’s face. His own nose throbbed and swelled, and he could hardly see, but he knew where to hit. And hit.

  Duncan’s hands fell and he dropped the blade.

  Scott hit him again. And again.

  He wanted to kill the bastard, rip him limb from limb, tear him the fuck apart.

  Instead, he stopped.

  Scott straddled his quarry, breathing heavily. He would not murder him. I’m not my father. I’m not a killer. He was a protector, and as much as he hated the man whose blood covered his fists, he couldn’t take his life now that he wasn’t an immediate threat.

  Scott squinted at Valerie in the dim light, feeling shaky. Scrambling off the other man’s limp body, he kicked the knife out of reach and rushed to her side. “Honey?’’