"I wouldn't be surprised. It's not like they don't have a history of that sort of thing."
Kirkland ran his hands over his face. "I wish she would have come back here. We could use all the bodies we can get." He looked at Sutherland. "I called Mina."
"I'm sorry."
"She's going to find someone to stay with the kids, then she's coming up. Joss is coming with her."
"Did you call Harley, too?"
He shook his head. "David did." He dragged his fingers through his hair, clearly as tired as her. "They have this close relationship because she delivered his daughter back last spring."
"I forgot she was a doctor until she started looking through his nurse's notes."
"Yeah. I guess she just finished a surgical fellowship there in Texas."
Sutherland remembered the fear on her face. She understood it more than that girl probably knew. She only wished she hadn't been so threatened by Sutherland's presence. They could have leaned on each other.
"I'm sure he's fine," Kirkland said, touching her hand. "Ash told me about your connection to him."
Sutherland thought back to the first time she met Kipling. He'd come to meet the woman who had his men so distracted during drills. He could have been an ass about it, but he wasn't. She wasn't sure Kipling was capable of being an ass.
He told her once, if only they'd met in a different time or place...
"He's the closest thing I've ever had to a big brother."
Kirkland rubbed his eyes again, sitting back in the chair like a man making himself comfortable for the long haul.
"Gray Wolf and the people that comprise it are something special, you know? I wasn't the kind of guy who trusted people. I walked into Gray Wolf thinking it was just a job. I did my part, then went home and had my brand of fun. No one mattered and no one kept me up at night. I didn't want to need anyone, didn't want anyone to need me. But then I met Mabel and Ash got himself tangled in that Bazarov mess, and I began to see the whole world through new lenses."
He studied Sutherland for a long moment. "I see that happening here. You've created a little family for yourself with your employees. Becky and Hank. Eve. And now you're making room for Grainger and Lance. I've seen the change in you since Ash first brought me here. You were wary of everyone except Kipling. And now?" Kirkland shrugged. "Being a family, trusting each other, that's what makes this organization work. But it's also what makes moments like this the hardest we will ever experience."
Sutherland tried a smile, but it felt forced. Kirkland seemed to understand. He reached over and touched her hand, his fingers warm and firm.
"We're going to fix this and everyone's going to walk away healthy."
"I know."
"Good." He patted her hand again. "I'm going home to my wife, sleep a little. You should do the same."
She watched him leave, her exhaustion settling so heavy on her shoulders that she couldn't have looked at that video again no matter how much she wanted to. She closed the laptop she'd been using and tucked it under her arm, slipping out a side door so no one would stop her on the way. Elizabeth was on her way to school with Becks, so the house was empty once again. She wanted a cup of tea, but the idea of going through the motions of making it seemed liked too much effort.
She needed sleep. She needed a hot bath and sleep.
She stumbled through the back door of her house, not even looking where she was stepping, not paying attention to her surroundings. That's likely why she didn't see him until he scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the kitchen to the back stairs.
"What are you doing here?"
"Taking care of you."
"When did you get back?"
He looked at her, his dark eyes warm in the dim light of the stairway.
Bodhi Archer. How many women would kill to be in his arms right now?
"Why don't we worry about all that later?"
She knew there was a reason she should be angry with him, but she couldn't remember for the life of her at that moment why. She snuggled into his shoulder, happier than she could express to have the burden of getting herself to bed taken off her own shoulders.
He took her into her bedroom and set her on the edge of the bed, carefully unbuttoning the blouse she'd been wearing since the morning before, sliding it from her arms with a touch that could only be called gentle, but was so much more than that. She lay back without being asked, closed her eyes as he worked the buttons of her jeans, tugging the snug material away from her hips. She thought she felt his lips graze her inner thighs, but wasn't quite sure. Her bra disappeared at some point, too, and then she was snuggled deep in the softness of her one personal indulgence, her down comforter.
"Don't go," she said when the mattress shifted under his weight.
"Not going anywhere," he said, kissing the back of her neck. "I'll be here as long as you need me."
"Be careful what you promise..."
Chapter 10
Clint
I checked for a pulse of the guy on the ground. He was dead. I'd known he was dead, but it was never ill advised to double check. I took his gun, noting the silencer. It was high quality, but not American made. European, maybe. I slid it into the SUV through the still open back door before making my way cautiously to the back of the vehicle. There was a black sedan parked not far behind the SUV, the kind of sedan that's a dime a dozen on the American highways. No one would remember this car, just like they were less likely to remember our SUV. That's why they were chosen by people like us.
If I hadn't seen the guy... I couldn't stop reliving that second in my mind. If I hadn't opened my eyes right when I did, if I hadn't happened to glance into the rearview mirror... he was coming up alongside the SUV, his gun trained on Ryan's reflection in the mirror. He was just a second from coming up on us, just a second from opening her head... it would have been ugly.
And the damn woman wouldn't listen to me! Thought she knew so much better, thought she could protect herself. She had no idea what she'd gotten herself into! She was a glorified security guard. This was so far above her pay grade she would never be able to comprehend what the hell was happening here.
I'd worked too fucking hard on this thing to allow some girl to get between me and the end game. Yet, here I was, letting her screw me over. Quite literally. It was time for this to end.
I crossed the road to the sedan and looked through the side window. There was fast food trash on the passenger seat, suggesting the driver was alone. The back seat was free of debris, but there was gun case open near the far side door. He'd taken his time to get the gun out! What was I doing with my life that I allowed some asshole to get that close to me and then sit there and put his gun together before he stalked me? I really was losing it.
But it looked clear. The car was empty and there was nowhere for another person to hide for miles. He was a lone assassin.
Interesting.
I wrenched open the front door and searched for the keys, concluding that the guy had thought far enough ahead to stow the keys in his pocket. Great. Corpse diving. There was a GPS mounted on the dashboard, but it wasn't the typical GPS a consumer might buy in an electronics store. This one was designed to trace specific vehicles. More to the point, it was designed to show the location of vehicles with bugs on them. And this machine was showing the exact location—and VIN number—of the SUV I'd been riding in all fucking night.
What the hell?
"What are we going to do about the blown-out windshield?" Ryan asked as I approached the SUV again. Contrary to my instructions, she'd gotten dressed and was sitting in the open back doors, swinging her legs like we were a couple of kids on a picnic instead of a couple who were nearly killed while having sex in an illegally bugged vehicle.
"What's this?" I demanded, shoving the tracker near her face. "Is there a fucking bug on the SUV?"
"Yeah," she said almost too readily. "Gray Wolf has trackers on all their vehicles for situations like this. So, they can come find us and bring u
s in."
"You knew this?"
"Of course."
"Yet, you didn't feel the need to tell me?"
She shrugged. "You were getting a little testy about the fake I.Ds. I didn't think you'd want to know."
"Yeah, well, maybe it would have prevented this little episode if you had told me. How do you think that asshole found us?"
She got up and moved around me, peeking at the man on the ground like he was about to get up and walk around. Then she walked over to the sedan, looking through the window as though she was going to see some sort of telltale mark that would tell her who the guy was.
"Do you know him?" I demanded.
"No, of course not."
"Then what are you looking for?"
She shook her head, but she was still walking around the car, squatting down when she reached the back fender, running her fingers under it like she expected to come away with a bug of her own.
"Ryan!"
She stood up again, her eyebrows raised as she met my gaze. "You know my name. I wasn't sure you did."
"Who is this guy and how did he know about the tracking device?"
"I don't know."
"You're looking for something."
"I thought..."
She frowned, going back to the SUV and kneeling beside the body. She began to search his pockets, making a face as she did. She tugged his keys and his wallet from the body, but there didn't seem to be anything else except a half-eaten roll of mints. She went through the wallet, tossing out the cash and his I.D. I picked up both, sliding the cash into my pocket as I studied the driver's license. It was issued in Texas to a man who looked very much like our would-be assassin, the name Rodrick Estrada with a Houston address printed beneath the picture.
"He doesn't look familiar to you?"
"No. I thought, maybe, he was with Gray Wolf. But there's nothing here to indicate that."
"Why would someone from Gray Wolf try to take us out?"
"Maybe he didn't realize it was us."
I shook my head. "Too thin."
She stood up and spun around to face me. "I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know this man, don't know why he did this. And I definitely don't know how he knew there was a tracking device on the SUV." She dragged her fingers through her short, dark hair. "The way it was explained to me, only Kirkland and Sutherland have access to that information, especially when the software is activated."
"He was with the Mahoneys."
I turned and stormed back to the sedan, jiggling the man's keys in my hand. She followed, grabbing my arm as I passed the hood.
"How do you know?"
I looked down at her. "Who else would even know we were on the move? Who else would know to come after us? Who else would want to come after us?"
"I don't know. How many enemies have you made in the world?"
I ignored the comment, climbing behind the wheel of the sedan.
"Get in unless you want to sit around here and wait for the next assassin to attempt to take you out."
She climbed into the car and sat with her back half turned to me, staring out the window as I took out of there. She twisted a little to watch the SUV disappear before settling like a pouting teenager, complete with her arms crossed over her chest.
"We're almost to Denver," I said after a few minutes. "I have some friends there, people who will help us out."
"And then?"
"And then we find a safe place to hide out until this thing blows over."
She shook her head. "I want to go back to MidKnight."
"Ryan, that guy just nearly took your head off. Do you realize what you're saying?"
"My team is back there. I have no idea what's going on with them, who might have been shot, who might not have made it out of that building at all. I belong back there." She glanced at me. "I got you to Denver. That's all I promised to do."
I thought about the people we'd left back at that building. I didn't like the not knowing, either, didn't like wondering if everyone made it out alive. And I really didn't like not knowing what happened to her...but I had a job to do. I'd worked a long time on this case. I wasn't about to let personal issues—any personal issues—get between me and the resolution of the damn case.
"Fine," I said. "You get me to my friends and I'll make sure they get you a car and a ride back to MidKnight."
It was all I could say. But I hated making promises I knew I wasn't going to keep.
Chapter 11
Ryan
They were whispering to each other like they were afraid of me overhearing their conversation. I had no idea who this man was, but Clint seemed to trust him. They were huddled close together in the middle of the cold parking lot, their heads close like two guys who'd known each other long enough to not care how their posture might look to other people. I crossed my arms over my chest, shivering in the chill air, watching the people who were watching us.
We'd stopped at a shopping center in the middle of downtown Denver, one of those strip malls where people could do everything from buy a new wardrobe to getting their hair and nails done to having their dog groomed. Clint got out and made a quick call from a landline in one of the shops, winking at the woman who'd handed it to him like he knew her. But that wasn't possible, right?
And then this guy—dressed in a dark suit and sunglasses—drove up in a black panel van, looking like Tommy Lee Jones from Men in Black. I was so lost, I was beginning to think I'd walked into some drama halfway through the production without a script.
"Come on," Clint said, taking my arm. "We're going."
"Going where?"
"Do you trust me?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that question because, truthfully, I wasn't sure I did. But I nodded just the same simply because he was the only person there I kind of knew.
"You're safe." He leaned close to me, his hand resting on the side of my face, his thumb moving over my bottom lip. "I won't let anything happen to you."
And then he lifted my gun out of its holster and handed it back to his companion, his eyes never leaving mine. If I ever trusted anyone, now was the time.
We got into the back of a black panel van, several people waiting for us inside. One was a blond woman who seemed very interested in me. She kept glancing at me even as she tried to follow the quick whispers of her companions.
"You sewed up his bullet wound?" she suddenly asked me.
"Yes." I glanced at Clint, but he was talking with someone I couldn't see in the front passenger seat. I heard the word missing and something about someone not being there, but probably nearby. "It likely needs to be redone. The thread might have caused an allergic reaction."
"We'll see to it. I just... that's pretty impressive."
"I was in the Marines. I assisted our team medic a few times."
"He's lucky you were there. He wouldn't be doing as well as he is now otherwise."
"Yeah... where we going?"
"To a safe house."
"He said I would be free to go as soon as he was safe."
"I'm sure you will be, but that's his call."
I tore my eyes from Clint, from the sober look on his face as he continued to talk to his unseen companion, to study this woman's pretty face.
"What does that mean?"
She hemmed and hawed a little, but before she could decide whether or not she was going to answer, the van stopped and the doors were yanked open. Someone took my arm and marched me through the glass doors of a tall building. I twisted around, saw Clint following. But they pulled me onto an elevator and he watched from the center of the lobby.
"Hey! What are you doing? Where are you taking me?" I pulled at the hands on my arms. "I want to stay with Clint!"
"We're just taking you to get cleaned up, ma'am," one of the men said.
"What about Clint?"
"You'll see him again later."
I didn't understand what was happening, and something told me that this wasn't what it looked like.
There was something about the way everyone was looking to Clint, something about the organized way in which they picked us up, the way in which they were escorting me, their hands placed in such a way as to which to maintain the maximum amount of control. I felt like I was back in the police academy, learning how to escort a suspect through a crowd.
These were cops. Or, at least, men who'd been trained as cops.
Clint had said friends. I'd assumed... I don't know what I'd assumed. But there was something so professional about all of this, I was beginning to wonder if I'd just walked into some sort of trap.
Clint was a cop with the Casper Police Department. Casper was a moderate sized town, one with a police force of less than two hundred. The most common crime in Casper was petty theft. The occasional carjacking. Some drugs. Not a lot of murders happen in Casper. It wasn't the kind of place that required the big guns: DEA, FBI. If not for the Mahoneys convincing everyone they'd set up shop in that building, the FBI would likely have never heard of the city.
Yet, Clint had friends who were clearly part of the big guns here in Denver?
What the fuck was going on?
"Where's Clint?" I demanded as one of the men let go of my arm long enough to unlock what looked like an apartment door. "Where are you taking me?"
"To clean up, Ms. Babcock," the other man said, pushing me through the door.
"There is a bathroom at the top of the stairs," the first man said, gesturing into the apartment. "There should be fresh towels, clothes. Help yourself to whatever you need."
Then he shut the door and locked me inside. Alone.
I walked around, pretending to be agitated, touching things, looking around. Anyone watching would think I was looking for an escape. I was looking for the cameras, and I spotted them. One was in a vase on a high shelf, another was in a ceramic bear near the television. There were a couple high on the ceiling, so tiny they melted in with the decorative border. There were a few in the kitchen, too, but they were ill-placed, leaving a huge blind spot right in front of the drawer where the knives were stored. That was a mistake.
I checked the doors and windows. All locked. Not that it would do me much good. We were twenty floors up, too far to try an escape out the balcony, too high for a fire escape to take me anywhere but higher up, probably to the roof.
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