by Tess Diamond
She was tougher than any civilian he’d ever met. She’d been through so much, so young. She’d gone from a little girl locked and bound in a closet, forced to leave her sister behind, and had become the kind of woman you’d fight wars for. Tough, empathetic, self-assured. Anyone would be impressed by a person with Maggie’s history managing to have a normal life. But normal wasn’t enough for a driven woman like Maggie Kincaid: She didn’t just overcome the evil she’d been forced to endure so young, she faced reminders of her trauma from all sides and instead of crumbling under the pressure, she gained strength from it. She may think she was a failure because of what had gone wrong at Sherwood Hills, but Jake knew that she’d done everything possible. That was the kind of agent—the kind of person—she was. Maybe calling in SWAT too soon had been a mistake—but who was to say the situation wouldn’t have escalated further if she hadn’t? That was the problem he understood too well: In the dangerous work they both did, they could never know the what-ifs—and he was sure that fact was as torturous for her as it was for him.
Sometimes, horrible things happened. Sometimes, they could stop them—but the other times . . .
It took a special person to not break under that kind of pressure. Jake had lost a lot of people in his life—that was the nature of war—and some losses were harder than others. He closed his eyes, trying to drive away the unbidden memory that rose to the surface of his mind. Bullets whizzing over his head, blood staining the golden sand, boots protruding from under an overturned, bombed-out Humvee.
He shook his head. He wasn’t going to think about that.
“O’Connor,” said a voice behind him.
Jake turned, finding Senator Thebes standing behind him, illuminated in the light beating down on the clearing. About time he showed up, Jake thought with more than a little derision. He kept his face neutral instead of showing his revulsion. He was still technically working for the man, after all. He had to remain professional.
The senator looked awful—as if he’d aged ten years in three days. His eyes, heavy with dark circles underneath, had a wild glint that made Jake nervous. He didn’t trust this guy as far as he could throw him. His actions had been deplorable, and he didn’t even seem to know it.
“Senator.” Jake nodded his head in acknowledgment.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Thebes said. “That woman—” he glanced over at Maggie, the disgust practically seeping out of his pale skin “—is not forthcoming with me.”
She’s been nothing but forthcoming, Jake thought. She just won’t play your fucking game because she thinks saving your daughter is more important than your precious reputation, you crooked bastard.
“I know I can trust you,” the senator went on, leaning forward and clapping a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I need you to keep the lines of communication open,” he continued. “If that woman gets too . . . hysterical, I’m relying on you to reel her in. There are so many moving parts here. I need you to be my eyes and ears. Can you do that? I need you to protect what’s important.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “And what is it you deem important, Senator?” he asked. “Your daughter or your career?”
Senator Thebes’ mouth twisted, offended by the bold question. “My daughter, of course,” he said.
Jake wanted badly to ask, Are you sure about that? The anger and distaste rising inside Jake was like a tidal wave. He knew better than to show it. Getting fired from this job meant he was off the case—and Maggie needed his help. She might never admit it, but she needed his support.
“I’ll take care of it for you, Senator,” Jake said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get Kayla home safe.”
The man’s suspicious expression faded at Jake’s words. He truly thought he was going to get away with this—but Jake knew better.
But first things first, Jake thought, turning his attention back to the cabin. It was a shabby building, no more than a glorified shack, really. The porch was sagging in the middle and the plaid curtains in the split windows were frayed, but pulled tightly closed. Tall pines surrounded it, casting it further in shadow. It stood there, dark, lonely, and dangerous.
They had to get Kayla Thebes out of that hellhole. To do that, he had to find a way in—and fast.
Jake looked over his shoulder at the group of agents clustered around Maggie. He couldn’t get to her without drawing too much attention. And anyway, he didn’t want her to get any of the blame for what he had planned.
Casually, he made his way toward the pines, pulling his cell out of his jacket and pulling up a file to email Peggy before dialing her number.
“Hey, boss, what’s the situation?”
“Has it hit the news yet?” Jake asked.
“A few vague news reports of police activity in the area. Nothing big yet. Police scanners are going crazy, though. The reporters will be heading out your way soon—if they haven’t already.”
“Okay, I need you to call Mark O’Brien at CNN,” Jake said. “Give him all the information in the file I’m sending you. Tell him I’m sure.”
“Got it,” Peggy said. “I’ll text you when it’s done. So, you’re pulling the trigger, huh?” Her normally cheerful voice had a hint of dread in it. He didn’t blame her. The general wasn’t going to be happy.
“I’m bringing that little girl home alive,” Jake said. “By any means necessary.”
He turned back toward the cabin. “Whatever it takes,” he said under his breath.
Chapter 46
Maggie hugged her elbows as she watched the camera crews setting up just beyond the cordons the police had hastily erected.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Maggie demanded. She could see news vans pulling up from the service road. “Who called them?”
Frank looked over his shoulder, shrugging when he saw them. “It’s public land, kid. They’ll stay behind the cordon, but we can’t really prevent them from recording. It’s news.”
“Didn’t you at least issue a no-fly zone for this area so they can’t send choppers up?” Maggie asked.
Frank shot her a look. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Sorry,” she said, realizing how snotty she sounded. The stress was starting to get to her—as the minutes ticked on, her hands shook so badly she had to shove them in the pockets of her jacket.
Mancuso’s deadline was closing in.
“Let’s go into the command center,” Frank said, taking her arm. Maggie followed, glad to get away.
The SWAT mobile unit was enormous, built like a deadly, bulletproof RV on wheels. Inside, computers and radios ran at full speed, and the bomb squad huddled in a corner, their heads bent as they conferred.
Maggie knew better than to bother them. She’d met with the head of the squad when they’d arrived, but she’d gotten out of their way as soon as they provided her with a basic breakdown. They’d give her an extensive report as soon as they knew the details—there was no point in rushing them. But she needed all the information she could get on the device wired to Paul’s chest.
Her heart clenched at the thought. She would always care about Paul. She loved him, like she’d love a friend. He was a good, solid man who deserved a good, solid life. It’s one of the reasons she’d left him. Because she wanted him to have that. Because he deserved someone who looked at him like he looked at her.
The idea of having to go to his family with the news of this . . . if this was how his life ended . . .
No. She shook the thought from her head, her fists clenching at her sides. Absolutely not. She wasn’t going to think about it.
No one was getting blown up today. Everyone was getting out alive. She would make sure of it.
“Agent—I mean, Ms. Kincaid?”
Maggie looked over to Agent Collins, a tall, reedy man standing in a small group of SWAT team members. Alpha Team Two, she realized as they turned toward her—they’d been the agents patrolling the perimeter when Mancuso had captured Paul and Sutton inside the cabin.
Co
llins’ boyish face was still white and drawn. She recognized the guilty expression in his eyes—he felt that Mancuso getting the drop on them was his fault. That he should have reacted faster or better, or somehow known what was going to happen before it did.
She recognized the emotion. But she didn’t have time for it. They needed to focus on the future, not on past mistakes. It was go-time, and the decisions they made now were about life—or death.
“Update?” she asked.
“We’ve cut the electricity,” Agent Collins said, ticking it off on his fingers. “And the techs have gotten the phone company to disable all calls from Mancuso’s cell except for those to your number. I’ve got four snipers in the trees, waiting for the order. Alpha Team Three is positioned around the cabin. Bomb squad is analyzing the picture of the device inside the second mobile unit; they should have a report for you soon.”
“Good,” Maggie said.
“We should go in,” said the man next to Collins. “Hit him hard and fast. We can take him. An overwhelming display of force.”
Several of the other SWAT members shifted, a few nodding in agreement.
Maggie looked at the man who had spoken, exasperation fluttering in her stomach. He was tall, with a head that looked a little too small for his broad shoulders. He wore his dark hair cropped close to his skull, and she could see a thick scar on his neck. But she wasn’t going to be overruled by a man’s opinion like this.
“What’s your name?” she asked, keeping her voice calm and level, almost friendly.
“Agent Grant,” he said with a sneer.
“Okay, Grant,” Maggie said, picking up a tablet from the table, bringing up the photo Mancuso sent earlier. “Come here.”
Rolling his eyes, he shuffled forward, looking at the tablet in her hand.
“You see this?” With a touch of her fingers, Maggie zoomed into the mess of wiring in the center of Paul’s chest.
“So what?” he demanded.
Maggie quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t see it?” she asked. “Maybe you missed your classes in explosives at Quantico. But I didn’t. That right there.” She tapped the photo, circling the corner where Mancuso’s hand was visible. “See what he’s holding?”
He leaned forward, squinting.
“It’s a dead man’s switch,” Maggie said, the unspoken “you moron” hanging in the air between them. “Do I have to educate you on that topic?” she asked sternly. “Mancuso’s got the bomb’s trigger in his hand at all times. If he drops it or releases the trigger, the bomb goes off. That means if you charge in there, showing your ‘overwhelming display of force,’ you’ll get everyone blown up—including Kayla, Agent Harrison, and the rest of your team.”
Grant ducked his head, his cheeks burning in embarrassment over missing such an obvious risk.
“So maybe take a step back, follow my orders, and remember that not everything can be solved by putting a bullet in an unsub’s brain,” Maggie concluded.
Grant wouldn’t meet her eyes, but she could tell he was scowling, humiliated at her dressing him down so neatly. Well, it served him right, she thought.
“How did he get his hands on this kind of tech?” Grant asked, his confidence turning into confusion.
“This guy knows what he’s doing,” Maggie said. “You’ve underestimated him every step of the way, and now you’ve fed his confidence. He just took on the FBI and succeeded in getting another hostage. All because you guys thought you knew who you were dealing with better than I did! Look where we are now: He’s got explosives, he’s got weapons, and he’s got more than one hostage. Stop underestimating this guy.” She stared at them, waiting until they met her eyes sheepishly, then continued.
“Stop assuming that your regular tricks are going to work. This guy has a mission, and nothing’s going to get between him and his goal—not even his own death. He has nothing to lose, and your little raid just pissed him off further.”
“What if we send in a tactical team disguised as the press?” Collins suggested. “You say he has a mission. That’s to tell his story, right? So why don’t we tell him he can have that? Send in agents disguised as journalists, get him talking, defuse the situation before he even realizes he’s been tricked.”
“That would never work,” Maggie said. “Mancuso’s spent two years working with the press professionally. He knows them. He’d recognize a Trojan horse like that right away.”
“Then what do we do?” Collins asked anxiously. “One of our own is in there!”
He wouldn’t be if you all had just listened to me, Maggie thought with frustration. But there was no point in dwelling on it. They were in this situation now, and she had to make the best of it. She had to find a way through.
“We find another way,” Maggie said.
“But—” Collins stopped talking when the mobile unit door opened. A tech climbed inside, Jake following behind her.
“You might want to turn on CNN,” he said to Maggie.
Maggie reached over and flipped the TV on. The senator’s face filled the screen as the anchor continued, “This is Mark O’Brien, with a special report. Senator Thebes, a three-term senator from Maryland, has been implicated in alleged illegal activities involving the company SouthPoint Oil. Rumors began when news broke that the senator’s teenage daughter Kayla was kidnapped earlier this week. Now, reliable sources indicate that the kidnapping was directly related to Senator Thebes’ close association with SouthPoint’s board of directors, a connection that allegedly involves oil smuggling, price rigging, and even assassination of uncooperative company operatives. Stay tuned for more details after the break.”
The screen switched to a commercial. Maggie frowned. How in the world had they gotten all that information?
She looked over at Jake, whose face slipped into a quick, sly grin before returning to his normal, tough-guy exterior. He wouldn’t . . .
But the satisfied gleam in his eye said otherwise.
“Did you do this?” she asked him in an undertone.
“Do what?” he asked innocently, that sly grin flashing at her again.
“You’re a piece of work,” she muttered, but as she looked around, she saw that no one else had realized what he’d done.
She knew she should be angry that he had seeded the story without consulting her first. But she couldn’t be—not really.
The man was clever, she’d give him that. Reckless, but clever—and effective. His move had just given her the one thing she desperately needed: a way to reestablish some trust with Mancuso.
Maggie looked at the screens on the wall of the mobile unit, camera feeds from each SWAT member’s position, showing multiple vantage points inside the darkened cabin. It felt like a hand was closing around her throat, making it hard to breathe.
Calm, Maggie, she reminded herself sternly. Stay in control. Stay strong.
She balled up her fists to hide the trembling.
Kayla was inside. Paul was inside. The danger was immeasurable. Mancuso was a wild card.
She had to lure him out and rescue his hostages. And Jake O’Connor had given her a way to do it.
It was time to make another phone call.
Chapter 47
“I need silence!” Maggie said. “We’re going to be making another call. Jessa, please start recording,” she told the tech sitting in the far corner, her headset firmly in place.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Maggie pulled out her phone and dialed Mancuso’s number. As it began to ring, her heart kicked in her chest like an angry horse. She wanted to reach out for Jake’s hand, to squeeze it, to let the warmth of him give her strength, but she knew she couldn’t. Instead, she met his steady gaze, and he nodded in encouragement as the phone rang and rang.
Wasn’t Mancuso going to pick up? God, what if he didn’t?
Sweat sprang up along the edge of her forehead, and she wiped it away, trying to breathe through the nerves.
Should she hang up? Try again? It’d been ring
ing too long.
Then there was a click. Her heart leapt and fell as the silence stretched out. Then, finally: “What do you want, you bitch?” Mancuso yelled.
Relief bolted through her, followed quickly by alarm at the anger in his voice. She could just picture him in there, sweating in the dark, listening to the choppers above, ducking the searchlights sweeping past the windows, and trying to gather the presence of mind to do . . . what?
She needed to solve this. Now. Fury paired with a dead man’s switch was a recipe for disaster. Even if Mancuso didn’t mean to, he could accidentally drop the trigger if he was startled. Stress did bad things to a guy’s motor skills. Especially when he wasn’t used to this level of panic.
“You cut my lights, you cut my phone, and now you expect me to trust you?” Mancuso demanded. “I should just—”
“Mancuso,” Maggie interrupted. “Roger. Can I call you Roger? There’s been a development. Something that I think will make you really happy. The SouthPoint scandal has just broken on CNN. It’s been connected to the senator, Roger. His face is all over the media, and they’re talking about how he’s crooked. That he’s deeply involved in criminal activity—including murder. It’s just a matter of time until a dogged reporter finds out the specifics about Joe—about what Thebes and SouthPoint did to him. The full power of the press is focused on digging out the truth behind this. If the senator’s guilty, they won’t just find out. They’ll destroy him.”
There was a pause. A moment where Maggie thought—hoped—that she’d hooked him. Please let it be enough, she thought. Please let him be satisfied.
But then: “That’s not good enough,” Mancuso burst out. All of Maggie’s hopes shattered. She felt like throwing the phone across the room, but instead, she kept listening, kept quiet, kept him talking.
“If all I wanted to do was create a scandal, I would’ve leaked the information myself. You don’t get it, Maggie,” he scoffed. “You’re naive. Men like the senator are snakes—he’ll wiggle free. He’ll get out of this unscathed. Maybe his political career is over—and that’s a big maybe—but I know how this town works. I know how politics work. I’ve lived and breathed them for years preparing for this. I’ve seen it all. That bastard will end up working for some think tank, making millions. Or he’ll serve on a corporate board somewhere. Men like him don’t stay down for long. He’ll rise out of this like a phoenix. He’ll hurt more people.”