by CJ Lyons
Moral arguments would have no effect on KC. If KC thought killing six men, three of them as they slept, was the only way to keep her man safe, then she had no qualms.
Unlike Vinnie. She’d thought after Michael’s death she’d lost the ability to care about what happened to anyone, including herself, but suddenly, like an old wound being torn open, here she was, feeling too much.
The events of the past two days swept over her like a tide of death, leaving her dizzy and breathless. How many men had died since she met Lucky?
She realized now just how alien his world was to her. As alien as her comforting wilderness was to him. Two universes separated by a chasm too wide to bridge.
“We may not have a better chance,” KC whispered once George had stumbled beyond earshot.
“What if we don’t get them all? What if they call for help first or kill us? How’s that going to help anyone or get the info to your boss?”
“You go on ahead, take the hard drive. I’ll take care of these guys.”
Vinnie’s stomach lurched as a battle-hardened expression commandeered KC’s face. The same look Lucky had when he was prepared to get himself killed in order to protect her and the information he thought was so important. KC thought she was going on a suicide mission.
“No.” Vinnie’s single word sparked between them. “Chase and Lucky don’t have anything to worry about from those idiots. Not if we get them help. Fast. Together.” All or none. She inhaled deeply. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”
KC frowned then nodded, reluctantly sheathing her knife. They began to belly crawl back to where they’d left the skis.
They continued into the night, both cocooned in silence as Vinnie led them over virgin snow and through the more densely forested terrain out of sight of the Forest Service road. Both were huffing and Vinnie was wishing for snowshoes instead of skis as they had to repeatedly untangle the blades from thickets lurking below the snow and plow through them on foot before finding suitable terrain to resume skiing.
Finally they had to abandon the skis all together, resorting to bouldering over ice-slicked granite and limestone as they climbed down the last ridge and made their way into a more civilized section of pin oaks and hemlocks. Vinnie stopped them close to Route 15.
The faint rumble of an engine disturbed the pre-dawn silence. KC climbed up onto a log to find a vantage point and use her monocular, but Vinnie didn’t need to see once she heard the scrape of metal and the grinding of gears.
“Snow plow.” She started toward the road, only another half mile parallel to it and they would be at Faye’s Place.
“Wait,” KC said, hopping back down. “If the roads are opening up, that means more of The Preacher’s men can get here. They could be using the diner as a staging area.”
“The only phone for miles is at Faye’s.” Vinnie thought about it. “I could go in, see if there are any outsiders.”
“Like your friend George? No. I’ll go in alone, pretend to be a stranded motorist, ask to use the phone.”
“He wasn’t a friend, he was a poacher.” Vinnie bristled at the idea that people she thought of as friends could betray her.
She’d slept in Faye’s guest room more than once when the road to the cabin had been unnavigable. And Tim, the counterman, Vinnie had helped him pass his GED exam last winter. He always saved a piece of cherry pie for her to take home with her when she visited.
She thought she was close to most of the local regulars as well. Had led the Boy Scouts on a survival skills outing, helped Mrs. Bolinda complete her life-list for the Audubons, taught some basic camping skills to Mr. Hammond’s third grade class.
It had taken a lot out of her, re-joining the outside world instead of remaining in her solitary retreat on the mountain. And now KC was implying that any of these people might betray her?
They kept to the tree line as they finished the final leg of their journey. Vinnie wasn’t surprised to see several cars in Faye’s parking lot and the lights blazing both in the diner and the guest rooms on the second floor of the rambling farmhouse.
One of the cars was a Sheriff’s patrol car. Vinnie felt a chill as she remembered the police barricade she and Lucky had narrowly avoided last night.
Life alone was better than Lucky’s world where you couldn’t tell friend from foe.
KC was busy assessing her options. She’d dropped her waist pack and removed her black jacket with its military style pockets and design. “Trade me your anorak and scarf, I need to look like a civilian.”
Vinnie complied, watching as the agent transformed herself from kickass scary to demur, petite, lost traveler. KC pocketed her smallest gun, pulled her pant legs out of her boots and rolled them down. “How do I look?”
“Fine, I guess. What do you want me to do?” Vinnie was afraid she had an idea. Her fears were confirmed when KC handed her the night vision monocular and a large semi-automatic pistol.
“Hide in the bushes and keep an eye out. If anything happens, don’t come in after me,” KC ordered. “Get out of here—no matter what, the information on that hard drive,” she patted Vinnie’s waist pack, “has to get out. That has to be your priority, not me or Chase or Lucky.” The smaller woman stepped back and looked at Vinnie appraisingly. “Can you do that?”
Vinnie considered. Could she do it, abandon the others to save thousands of strangers? Yes. But would she?
KC noted her reluctance. “Vinnie, what I’m asking you to do is a lot harder than rushing in and playing hero. But it has to be done. All the pain and suffering The Preacher has brought—to Chase, to Lucky, to the pilot he killed today—that has to stop and you have the power to stop it. Will you do what I ask?”
Vinnie swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 36
Rose Prospero nodded to the night guard and strode through darkened corridors of the STR building. Housed in a dilapidated warehouse in Fairfax, Virginia, the exterior of the building appeared ready for the demolition ball.
Inside, it was four floors of the latest in computer technology, a weapons range, gymnasium, sleeping quarters, and a mess hall. Its own self-contained village—a notion Rose liked to foster among her people. More than just a team, they were family.
A family sharing a job that often placed them in danger.
Family. They were your strength—and your greatest vulnerability.
She’d just seen that up close while briefing the Cavanaughs about Lucky. At least she’d been able to offer them some hope; the pilot’s last transmission had reported that Lucky was alive. But after viewing satellite images of the twisted carnage of the helicopter sent to rescue him, she wasn’t sure if that hope wasn’t really prolonging the agony.
Ralph Cavanaugh had taken it worse than the others. They had flocked around him, a veritable sea of law enforcement, supporting him as he stoically stood before her, barking out questions that they both knew she either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Sometimes it was easier with civilians than facing a tribe of professionals like the Cavanaughs, brothers in blue who could read between the lines.
Lucky’s mother had been the saving grace. She had shepherded her clan, giving them mindless tasks to keep them occupied, sending the ones with children off to get some rest, preparing them all for the vigil to come. She was the only one who had met Rose’s eyes as she left, forcing a promise from Rose that when the news came, good or bad, Rose would call her first.
Rose stopped by her locker and changed out of her all-purpose black pants suit and into jeans and a sweatshirt.
She wasn’t surprised to see the lights on in her second in command’s office even though when she had left a few hours ago, Billy had sent most of the team to get some rest, knowing that exhaustion was the primary cause of most mission failures.
She was surprised to see Billy back in his tuxedo, complete with bow tie dangling from his open collar as he lounged in one of his matching leather chairs, long legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed.
James Bond come to life—only Billy was a hell of a lot more sexy than James Bond in any of his incarnations.
James Bond didn’t have an espresso machine in his office. Billy Price did, and he knew how to use it. Right now the tantalizing aroma was leading her by her nose.
“Thought you were going to get some sleep,” he said, looking up as if he expected Rose.
She plopped into his other chair, not caring that her jeans and Notre Dame sweatshirt didn’t fit with the well-appointed office furnishings.
Whenever high ranking guests came to visit, which wasn’t often since only a handful of people on the Hill knew of STR’s existence, they were escorted to Billy’s office with its deep green walls, rich tapestry drapes hiding the view of the landfill next door, large walnut desk and deep leather chairs. Add a hound dog and a fireplace and he could pass for the perfect English Lord.
“Went to brief the Cavanaughs,” she said.
“Tough duty.” He stood and filled her mug with coffee. Black, strong, and lethal to uninitiated stomach linings—just the way Rose liked it. She took a sip and sighed.
“Never knew a man who could make coffee this good,” she said by way of thanks.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Never knew a woman who couldn’t make coffee on her own.”
It was wouldn’t, not couldn’t, but she’d take that secret to her grave. No sense jeopardizing her supply of liquid ambrosia. “Never had to learn.”
“That’s because you’re so irritable without it that everyone makes it for you before you can go into withdrawal.”
“It works, doesn’t it?” She drained her Baltimore Raven’s mug, held it out for a refill. Billy obliged, topping his own more elegant china cup as well. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Call you for what?” he asked, playing innocent, reaching for the sugar bowl.
“For whatever has you disobeying your own order. Not to mention wearing the monkey suit. What’s up?”
“Had a hunch, wanted to follow it up.”
The caffeine surging through her veins in a familiar addict’s rush, she climbed to her feet and began to pace. That was the other nice thing about Billy’s office—room to move. Rose’s was so cluttered with maps and papers and books that she could barely turn around some days.
There was only one type of “hunch” that would have Billy out in a tuxedo in the middle of the night. “Let me guess. Senator Payne.”
Susan Payne was the chair of the Oversight Committee. An attractive widow in her early forties, she often requested Billy’s services as an escort to official functions. Rose wasn’t sure what other services the senator received from her second in command and it was one of the few things she would never ask him about. Billy had enough trouble dealing with a younger woman as his superior officer, she wasn’t about to give him any inkling that she might be jealous.
And she wasn’t. She honestly hoped that someday Billy would find a woman worthy of him.
But she knew that woman wasn’t Susan Payne. Despite the Senator’s charming exterior, Rose recognized a power-hungry narcissist when she saw one. She only hoped Billy did as well.
Billy finished stirring the sugar into his coffee and turned around, slowly as if he were considering his words. “Embassy reception.” He took his seat without spilling a drop of coffee. “I thought I might pick up more intel.”
“And?”
A frown creased his brow, was gone again before she was even positive that it was there, replaced by his typical genial poker face.
Rose’s hackles rose. There was definitely something more going on between Billy and Senator Payne. She made a note to find out exactly what after the current crisis passed.
“Sorry, nothing helpful,” was all he said.
“Anything new on our people at Lost River?” She knew there wasn’t—Billy would have told her as soon as he saw her instead of playing host.
The coffee lost its flavor, instead became bitter acid in her throat as she remembered the way she had encouraged KC and Chase to go after Lucky. Maybe Billy was right, she wasn’t the right person for this job.
She had butterflies every time she thought of the risks of Chase and KC working together. Rose preferred her team members to remain unattached, but she couldn’t lose two of her best operatives just because they had the poor sense to fall in love.
“Nothing changed on the latest satellite images. Cloud cover prevented accurate infrared readings but they did get some dim heat signatures—could be fire from the helo crash, though.”
“It’s them. Make sure we have a crew ready to go as soon as the weather clears.”
“Latest forecast says that will be around five this morning.”
Rose nodded. Then they would know, one way or the other. No sense worrying about what she couldn’t fix. “We’re all set for everything else?”
“Everything is in place. It’s going to take some finesse closer to zero hour and we have teams mobilizing, so a transport snafu might screw with things, but yeah, we’re good to go.”
“Go home. Get some sleep.” He opened his mouth to protest. She stood and stared him down. “That’s an order.”
Turning on her heel, she walked out of his office and down the hall to her own. Time to get to work.
CHAPTER 37
Vinnie always thought that one of her virtues was her patience. She might be stubborn, quick to temper and slow to forgive, but she could out wait anyone or anything. It was one of the things that made her so good at her job.
Now she’d been waiting less than a minute, crouched between two spruce bushes at the edge of the parking lot, eye clamped tight to the monocular, watching the people inside Faye’s laugh and smile and talk, and she was ready to scream.
Then KC walked through the door and all heads turned to her.
Vinnie was amazed by the woman’s acting performance. KC was a natural, allowing the men who leapt to the assistance of the “damsel” in distress to ease her into a chair, sipping at the warm coffee Faye brought her with both hands circled around the mug as if the brew was a lifesaving elixir, and letting Tammie, the waitress, wrap her in an old blanket.
Every face inside the café was a familiar one and no one seemed to question KC’s story or her motives. Vinnie relaxed slightly, glad that the people she called friends weren’t in league with The Preacher and that there would be no need for Vinnie to follow KC’s final instructions.
Faye escorted KC to her office to use the phone there in private. A few minutes later KC emerged, ran her fingers through her short curls in the sign they had agreed upon. She’d gotten the message out, mission accomplished.
Vinnie sat back on her heels and blew out the breath she’d been holding. KC’s people—whoever they were, Vinnie still wasn’t exactly clear on that—would be coming to get The Preacher and Chase. And Lucky. He’d be gone, vanished from her life as quickly as he’d came.
Damn the man with his irrepressible spirit, that sly half-grin, those puppy dog hazel eyes. He was strong, vulnerable, courageous, funny, smart, kind, and cute.
The perfect man, and he’d be long gone by the time she made it back to her cabin. Unless they needed her to testify or something, she’d most likely never see him again. Good thing she hadn’t fallen for him.
She sniffed back her tears. Now wasn’t the time. Once she was alone again, then she could cry over what could have, might have been.
At least they had last night. Despite the fact that it had been a totally irresponsible thing to do, Vinnie was glad now that she had made love to Lucky. She only wished that she’d known at the time that it was more than sex.
Vinnie rose to her feet, concealed the gun in her waist pack and went inside Faye’s. Just as she and KC had arranged, she would pretend surprise at all the people gathered there, let them make a fuss over her and concoct some story about why she had come down the mountain. KC would watch, make sure everyone believed her story, and Vinnie would pass the hard drive to her.
KC had
n’t been sure if Vinnie could fit on the helicopter with them—and Vinnie wasn’t sure if she wanted to face Lucky again. She decided there was safety in numbers. She’d stay at Faye’s today, let Faye would bundle her into one of the guest rooms for the night, and tomorrow Vinnie would return home.
Alone. With no one the wiser about her involvement in the night’s drama. Or, if Lucky and his people did their jobs, even that there had been any drama at all. And her safe, solitary, monotonous life would go on. Alone.
Lucky grabbed Chase’s MP-5 and ran to the porch when he heard the helicopter approaching. It was almost dawn.
Either The Preacher’s men worked fast, or Vinnie and KC had made it through. He sighted on the helicopter’s hatch as it settled to the ground, mere yards away from the carcass of its sister machine. The hatch opened and a familiar figure leapt to the ground, followed by two others who wrestled a stretcher through the snow.
KC. The cavalry had arrived as promised. This nightmare was almost over. Then Lucky would be free to—the thought stopped him in his tracks. He’d been focused for so long on merely getting through life one day at a time, going through the myriad motions of living from rolling out of bed in the morning to willing himself to fall asleep each night, that he’d forgotten how it felt to want tomorrow to arrive.
He smiled, gave KC a quick hug and looked beyond her for a figure that didn’t appear.
“We had weight issues,” KC answered his unspoken question. “Vinnie’s safe at the diner. I told her I’d send someone to pick her up, bring her to meet us at the hospital. How’s Chase?”
“Slept a little. The pain seems less now that the swelling’s gone down a bit.”
She left to check on Chase while Lucky escorted their prisoner to the helicopter. It was a tight fit with Chase on a gurney, KC on a jump seat at his head, the medic and pilot in front and Lucky and The Preacher strapped into seats behind them.