by Paula Graves
“He won’t,” Olivia insisted.
Quinn didn’t think he would, either. “He’s put Dallas Cole on ice for a reason. What reason?”
“Setting up a new scapegoat?” That suggestion came from Seth Hammond, who sat across the table from Quinn. Covert Ops weren’t his area of expertise, but he’d been in on this case from almost the beginning, tracking Landry and Olivia up the mountain and keeping an eye on them for Quinn. He’d wanted in on the finale, so Quinn had added him to the team.
“You mean, he wants to pin everything on Dallas Cole?” Rigsby asked. “But what about Landry? I thought he was already the designated patsy.”
“Thanks, Rigsby.” Landry made a face at her.
“You know what I mean. Crandall must know you suspect him by now. Or does he think you still believe he’s one of the good guys?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he sent people to grab Cole in order to keep him from communicating anything more to Olivia or me.” Landry looked at Quinn. “Cole went to the trouble of not using a phone that could be connected to him. So Crandall may not know he’s been in touch with us already.”
“Wonder if Cole had reason to think he was under surveillance?” Hammond suggested.
“I think most people in the government assume their communications can be accessed easily. Especially someone in the FBI,” Olivia said.
“And Crandall knows that.” Quinn pushed away the half-drunk cup of coffee in front of him. “I think Olivia’s right. Phil Crandall won’t show his face here. That’s not how this game is played.”
“It’s not a game,” Landry muttered.
Quinn sighed. “You’re right. Bad choice of words.”
“You think nobody will show up at all?” Olivia asked.
“I didn’t say that. Landry’s a wild card, and if I were Crandall, I’d take one more shot at eliminating him. I’d be thinking, maybe Landry can’t connect me to any of this mess, but what if he can? And I hate to say it, Olivia, but Landry is probably right about your being a target. Crandall must know by now that Landry’s made contact with you.”
“But if they know we’re setting up a trap, why would anybody show up at all?” Hammond looked confused.
“They’re not going to show up at the meeting point,” Brand agreed. “We know that much already.”
“But they’ll do their own surveillance and go after Olivia and Landry once we close down the operation,” Quinn explained. “This is a trap on top of a trap on top of a trap.”
“Like running a long con,” Hammond murmured.
“Sort of.”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to prove Crandall was behind any of this just because someone tries to take out Landry and Sharp,” Brand warned.
“No, but we may be able to finally bring some provable charges against some members of the Blue Ridge Infantry. Then the police can get search warrants, warrants to pull phone records, and maybe that will lead to even more warrants and searches—”
“If we can pull this off,” Landry finished. “It’s a big if.”
“That could very well depend on the two of you,” Quinn warned him. “We’re going to have to fall back and leave you two exposed for a little while. I’m not going to lie and tell you it won’t be dangerous. It will.”
Landry’s gaze shifted toward Olivia. “I don’t think Olivia has to be part of the bait this time. She can fall back with you, and I can go it alone.”
“No.” Olivia shook her head. “Not happening.”
“She’s right.” Quinn didn’t like the idea of Olivia in the crosshairs, either. She was a good agent, a very good asset to his company, and he’d come to like and trust her during her time as one of his agents, as much as he ever allowed himself to trust anyone. “They almost certainly know you’re together. They’ll be very suspicious if you part company now.”
“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“I’m not,” Olivia said. “This could be your best chance to clear your name and get your life back.”
“If you’re talking about the FBI, there’s no way they’ll take me back, even if I get out of this without criminal charges.”
“There’s more to life than working for the FBI.” Olivia put her hand over Landry’s, just a brief, firm touch, but in the gesture Quinn saw all he needed to know about where Olivia’s loyalties ultimately lay.
Good thing they were chronically understaffed at The Gates these days. If everything worked out this afternoon, it looked as if he’d be adding a new investigator.
“We don’t have time to fight this out,” he warned. “We’re an hour from meeting time, and the roads are still messy. We need to get rolling.”
“I’m not leaving you, Landry. So deal with it.” Olivia’s low, fervent tone left no room for argument. Landry met her gaze and sighed.
“Okay. Fine.” He looked at the rest of the men and women at the table. “Let’s get this party started.”
Quinn pulled Olivia aside as they lined up to pay their dinner checks. “I meant what I said—our best chance to make this plan work is if you stick with Landry. But it’s your choice. If you have any doubts...”
“I don’t.” Her chin lifted and her gaze met his without wavering.
“Good luck.” He touched her arm and walked past her to the checkout counter, hoping this was one of those rare operations that went off without a hitch.
* * *
OLIVIA SUPPOSED THAT sometime in history, somewhere in the world, an operation had gone exactly as planned.
She’d just never been part of such a thing herself.
The meeting time had come and gone about an hour ago, and as they’d expected, Crandall had been a no-show. So had Dallas Cole or anyone from the Blue Ridge Infantry. But Seth Hammond had sent her a text message a few minutes ago to inform them the covert backup team had spotted about a half dozen men observing the meeting place from a distance.
Quinn and half the crew from The Gates were now headed back to the agency, while Landry and Olivia were on the road to Bryson City. The trip would take them through any number of potential ambush points, with only their stealthy backup team to help them out until more reinforcements could arrive.
By midnight, they’d passed almost all the potential ambush points the operation team had mapped out for them. They were five minutes from the Song Valley Music Hall and the Hunters’ guest cabin.
“Do you think they figured out our plan?” Olivia asked as she forced herself to stay relaxed and focused.
“Check with the backup team.”
Before she typed a letter, a text from Seth Hammond came in. “The men they’ve been following have just peeled off and seem to be heading back to Tennessee.”
“I don’t like this,” Landry muttered.
Olivia didn’t, either.
The Song Valley Music Hall was dark when they pulled into the driveway that wound past the restaurant toward the houses behind it. A couple of lights were still shining in upstairs rooms of the main house, but the guest cabin was dark and quiet.
Prickles of unease crept down Olivia’s spine. “Do you think the Hunters are still awake? There are lights on.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “My danger radar is still going off like crazy, but I don’t know if it’s because I’m still on high alert from playing out this plan.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not over,” Landry admitted. “I don’t trust that they’ve backed off tonight. Patience isn’t something I’ve ever associated with the Blue Ridge Infantry.”
Olivia felt sick. “And we’ve just put the Hunters in danger.”
Without warning, Landry pulled the Tahoe to a stop in front of the Hunters’ cabin and cut the engine. “We’d better tell them
what’s going on.”
The sense of unease strengthened exponentially once they left the relative safety of the Tahoe and headed up the flagstone walk to the Hunters’ cabin. The weight of the Glock tucked in the holster under her jacket was a partial comfort, but every instinct Olivia had was screaming warnings to stay on guard.
“Wait,” she said as Landry started to reach for the screen door.
He glanced at her. “What?”
She reached in her pocket and pulled out the flashlight she’d carried with her on the operation. She flicked on the light and ran the narrow beam up and down the front of the screen door. She was about to shut off the light when something glinted in the beam, catching her attention.
“Do not move,” she said with quiet urgency.
Landry went still. “What did you see?”
“There’s a wire sticking out between the door frame and the screen door. It might be a loose wire from the screen, but—”
“But it might be a trip wire.”
“Right.” She took a step backward. The floorboard beneath her boot gave a loud creak, and her heart skipped a beat.
A moment later she heard a muffled shout coming from inside. “Get away! The house is rigged!”
“That was Rafe,” Landry growled, stopping his retreat. Olivia saw him eyeing the windows, looking for another mode of entry, but she had a feeling the windows might be rigged with explosives, as well.
She put her hand on his arm and pulled out her phone, punching in a message to Hammond. “We’re not bomb-disposal experts. We can’t get them out of there by ourselves.”
“This is all my fault.”
“No, it’s not.” Her phone vibrated and she checked the screen. Hammond’s text in reply was blunt and profane. “He’s informing Quinn. Quinn has contacts in the local law-enforcement agencies. He’ll make sure the best bomb squad available shows up to take care of this situation. But we have to get away from this house.” She turned toward the door and shouted, “Rafe! We’re getting help. Hang in there!”
“The guest cabin’s probably rigged, as well, in case we went there first,” Landry growled.
“The music hall may be, too. We need to get the experts here before we make things worse.”
Cade resisted for a moment when she gave his arm a sharp tug, but finally he turned and hurried her down the steps and back to the Tahoe.
As she reached for the door handle, something thudded hard against the front panel of the SUV just as she heard the crack of rifle fire echoing through the trees nearby.
“Get in the car!” Landry shouted, already opening the driver’s door.
Olivia heard the click of the passenger door unlocking and jerked it open as another bullet shattered the side mirror in an explosion of flying glass. One small shard nicked her cheek with a sharp sting.
“Go, go, go!” She flung herself onto the passenger seat and jerked the door shut behind her.
Landry jerked the Tahoe in Reverse and whipped it around in a semicircle until they were facing the road.
Where three dusty pickup trucks blocked the driveway, each one manned guerrilla-style by men in camouflage standing in the truck beds, rifles aimed directly at them.
Chapter Eighteen
“Get down, get down!” Landry jerked the Tahoe in Reverse and swung into a sharp J-turn even as rifle fire split the night air. He heard more than saw Olivia hit the floorboard, putting three rows of seats between her and the shooters. She started speaking and he realized she’d called 911.
“We’re taking rifle fire and we’re hemmed in. I’m not sure there’s any way to evade them.” Olivia’s voice was breathless and pitched a little higher than usual, but there was no sign of rising panic, no hint of fear taking over.
He wished he could say the same for himself. The mere thought of bringing in the authorities had his heart pounding and his mind reeling. He’d been stuck in fight or flight so long, the idea of turning over his fate to the authorities was almost more than he could fathom.
But they were out of options. Even as he swung the truck across the uneven yard behind the music hall, twisting the steering wheel back and forth to avoid the obstacle course between him and the other end of the music hall, he knew there was little chance of mistake. In the cracked glass of the rear window, he saw that only two of the trucks had taken up the pursuit, which meant the third vehicle was probably circling around to cut them off.
There was a small gap between the two trucks behind him, but if he timed it right—
He jammed on the brakes and the Tahoe’s wheels slid on the lingering patches of melting snow as he jerked the wheel around to reverse course again and aimed for the narrowing gap between the two pickup trucks now barreling across the slippery ground straight at him in a terrifying game of chicken. Finally, as the grille of the Tahoe came a few short feet from the front of the trucks, the drivers swerved out to avoid a head-on collision.
The men in the truck beds were too busy clinging to the truck to get off any shots, and with a scrape of metal on metal as the SUV slid against the side of one of the trucks, the Tahoe shot the gap and raced up the driveway toward the road.
The trucks behind him had to avoid each other, slowing down their attempts to reverse course, and the third truck that had gone around the music hall to cut them off had no idea what had happened.
His heart pounding, Landry gunned the Tahoe down the driveway, increasing his lead as he swung onto the road in front of the music hall and tore away from the pursuit.
Olivia had pulled herself up into the seat and was giving the 911 operator a play-by-play of what had just happened, peering through the gloom ahead to make out the sign on the next crossroad they passed. “We’re still heading north on Valley Road, just past Soldier Junction.” She listened a moment, turning around to look out the back. “They’re still behind us but falling back. No, we didn’t get any license numbers.”
Suddenly, headlights came on, bright and blinding, from two vehicles parked on either side of the highway. Landry’s heart jumped into his throat. “Son of a—”
Olivia’s hand closed over his arm, and he darted a quick look at her.
“The Gates,” she said, and he realized what she was telling him.
He drove past the two trucks parked on the shoulder and kept going. With a glance in his rearview mirror, he saw that the parked vehicles had pulled out behind him, blocking both lanes of Valley Road.
“They’ll have vehicles trailing the trucks,” Olivia said softly, the phone pressed against her chest. “They’re going to hem them in.”
“There’ll be a firefight.”
“Maybe. But those vehicles have bullet-resistant windows and armor. Just like this one.”
Landry looked at the bullet holes in the rear window and realized they hadn’t penetrated the glass. He released a harsh breath. “You could have told me.”
“When?” She put the phone to her ear and told the 911 operator they’d evaded their pursuers and arranged for a meeting point with the sheriff’s-department deputies responding to the call.
Landry eased the Tahoe to the shoulder where she indicated they should stop and put it in Park, though instinct told him not to cut the engine. Those jerks in the trucks weren’t the only dangerous people in these hills.
“Are you okay?” He turned to look at Olivia, taking in her disheveled appearance and searching for any signs of injury. He saw a dark rivulet of blood running down the right side of her face. “You’re bleeding!”
She reached up and touched her cheek, looking at the blood that came away on her fingers. “I got nicked by flying glass from the side mirror. Barely even stings. I’m fine. How about you?”
If he’d been injured, he couldn’t feel it. He reached for her, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of her n
eck, and pulled her across the gear console and into his embrace. Electricity seemed to flow through his veins like blood, sparking everywhere it traveled, until his whole body felt like a live wire, utterly on edge.
But slowly, as she lifted her hands to draw soothing circles across his back, the frantic energy ebbed, until he finally felt his pulse return to some semblance of normal.
Even the wail of sirens in the distance, moving inexorably closer, wasn’t enough to jar his nervous system into another flight of panic. One way or another, his ordeal was over. The authorities would believe him or they wouldn’t. But there would be no more running.
He might well be doomed to spend the next few years of his life behind bars, but he thought he could handle it now.
Now that Olivia was on his side.
* * *
“HOW MUCH LONGER are they going to interrogate him?” Olivia couldn’t stop her restless pacing beside Alexander Quinn. He sat with annoying calm in one of the two chairs that faced the empty desk of Ridge County Sheriff Max Clanton, who had insisted on observing the interview.
“You know the FBI. They like to swagger around and play the big dogs.” The look Quinn shot her way was full of amusement, making her want to kick him in the shin with her hiking boots.
Instead, she stopped pacing, slumping in the chair next to him and stretching out her long legs, which had begun to ache. Dropping her chin to her chest, she glared at the empty desk chair and tried not to think about what Landry was going through in the interview room down the hall.
The Bryson City Police had picked up the men who’d been chasing Olivia and Landry, but so far, they hadn’t been able to get much out of them. Quinn had told her it was possible they wouldn’t be able to connect them to the Blue Ridge Infantry at all.
At least the Hunters had been safely rescued from their booby-trapped house. The bombs had been small pipe bombs, two hidden in the decorative urns on either side of the porch set to blow if anyone had opened a door or a window on the first floor. Fortunately, one of the officers on the Bryson City force had been an explosive-ordnance expert in the Marine Corps and had managed to disarm the simple explosives without incident.