by Tess Diamond
Jake stood above him, a peashooter clutched in his right hand. He kicked Black’s Glock out of the way, bending down to check the man’s pulse. He looked up at Maggie and nodded conclusively. Black would never harm anyone again.
“You good, Goldilocks?” he asked, glancing up at her, his mouth a hard line of determination and grit.
She nodded, her heart felt as if it was beating right out of her chest.
Kayla.
As sirens began to ring in the distance, Maggie ran to her, falling to her knees beside the unconscious girl.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” she told Kayla. “You’re safe now.”
Chapter 63
As the sirens grew louder, Mancuso began to shift nervously.
“I’m not going to get out of this free, am I?” he asked Maggie.
Maggie looked up at him somberly. She wasn’t going to lie to him. “I promised you I’d help you get what you wanted,” she said. “And I did. I kept my promise. Everyone will know what Joe died for. That he was a true American patriot. And no matter what you did, you did it so that people would know that. That’s what you wanted.”
Mancuso stared at the headlights of the SUVs in the distance, fast approaching. His fingers twitched nervously as he wiped blood off his face.
“Is your head okay?” Maggie asked.
He nodded. “I’ve had worse,” he said.
“You weren’t planning to survive this and go free, were you?” Maggie asked, because she could see the wheels turning in his mind. The fight-or-flight instinct that was deeply embedded in every human.
“You’re right,” Mancuso said, his eyes darting back and forth around him. “But still, can’t hurt to try.”
He reached into his jacket, and Maggie dove to shield Kayla. A gunshot rang out. Jake jerked backward, falling to the ground. Mancuso ran, heading toward the expansive park down the street.
Shit.
Jake was on lying his back, bleeding. Maggie ran over to him, kneeling down.
“Where is it?” She pawed at his shirt as he tried to brush her hands away.
“Just my shoulder,” he told her through gritted teeth. “Go! Ambulance will be here in a second. I’ll take care of Kayla. Here—” he pressed his gun into her hand “—go get him, Goldilocks.”
She didn’t take the gun, though. Instead, she reached down, grabbing his face with both her hands and pressing a desperate kiss against his lips. She could die today—in just minutes—and she wanted him to know that she . . .
She pulled back, just inches from his face, from those brilliant, beautiful green eyes.
“Jake, I—” she started to say. She licked her lips, unable to say it yet, even though she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to. But there wasn’t time. She had to go. “Don’t bleed to death,” she ordered, grabbing the gun.
He grinned. “I’ll try not to.”
Maggie ran, vaulting over the cement divide and heading down the street. Her footsteps pounded on the pavement as she made a quick right, racing through the gates of the park. Mancuso had already disappeared among the trees lining the cobbled path, but she headed in, gun raised, every sense on high alert.
The park was empty; a sign she passed said it was closed for cleanup. She made a mental note to keep an eye out for maintenance workers. She didn’t want to accidentally shoot an innocent guy who was just there to pick up trash or trim the shrubbery.
She made her way to the thicket of trees set on top of a hill near the center of the park. Mancuso would want cover, as much as he could find. He’d want the element of surprise on his side. That’s where he’d go.
She had to be ready for him.
The sun had just started to peek up along the horizon, the gray light of dawn obscured by the dense spread of oak trees Maggie approached. Her leg muscles burned as she tried to move as steadily and swiftly as she could across the wet ground. The incline steepened as she headed toward the trees. Good. She needed the vantage point the hill provided. She’d never get anywhere without better visuals. She’d lose him or end up knocked out—or worse, shot in the back.
She crested the top of the hill, her lungs burning, Jake’s gun held tightly in both hands. She had a better view from here, and she scanned the park below, tracking the walks and trails for movement. Where was he?
For long moments, she could hear only the rapid thud of her heartbeat echoing in her ears. But as she moved swiftly and surely along the edge of the hill, searching the park, her heart calmed, her focused narrowed, and her senses sharpened.
This is what her childhood had wrought: instincts honed by knowledge, by courage, by strength. This was what she had been born to do.
The long shadows of trees, statues, and benches stretching across the park in the rising sun made her edgy. Flickers out of the corners of her eyes made her jump, but she realized they were only branches moving in the wind. As she hopped over some fallen branches, her steps made little rustling noises, acorns breaking under her feet.
She came to a stop, turning in a slow circle, trying to get her bearings. Where would Mancuso go? Had he run out of the park already? It was huge; he couldn’t have. He wasn’t fast enough. Would he hide?
Would he circle back?
A branch snapped behind her. Instead of freezing or whirling around, which every part of her body screamed to do, she began to walk forward instead. Crouching as if she’d heard something up ahead, she moved quickly across the top of the hill, toward the north, waiting, waiting.
There it was: the telltale sound of footsteps.
He was behind her.
Every hair on her body raised, the prickle down her spine made her want to shiver, but she had to stay calm. She couldn’t give her ruse away.
Play it cool, Maggie, she told herself. Let him come to you. The footsteps grew closer.
She pretended to stumble, knowing he’d try to take advantage of her clumsiness. But instead of falling, she ducked and twisted in a smooth, quick movement. And before Mancuso could recover or retreat, she charged, tackling him to the ground. The gun flew out of his hand, and she pressed her knee against his stomach, hard against his diaphragm, making him wheeze and cough as she leveled Jake’s peashooter right in his face.
“Stay where you are,” she ordered as he raised his hands in the air.
The gun trained on him, she rose carefully and retrieved his weapon, unloading it and pocketing the clip.
“You shouldn’t have run, Roger,” she told him.
He let out a near-hysterical laugh. “Wouldn’t you have run if you did what I did?”
Maggie didn’t know. Keeping the gun on him, she stood over him.
“Are you gonna kill me?” he asked.
“I’m not Mr. Black,” she said. “But I will shoot you if you make a wrong move.”
He sagged against the ground, defeated. “I had to try,” he muttered.
“You really didn’t,” Maggie said. “But I don’t want to talk about that,” she said.
She had to know for sure. She had to understand why he knew Erica’s last words. How he knew them. Why.
She needed answers.
Something gleamed in Mancuso’s eyes, shimmering in the early-dawn light. “What do you want to talk about?” he asked.
“I want to know why you said that to me on the phone,” she said.
“Said what?” he asked innocently.
The slow burn of irritation lit inside her. He was still playing games, after all this time. As if he didn’t know how to stop. Didn’t know who he was, now that his brother’s death had been exposed and avenged.
“You know what,” she said. “Don’t mess with me. I’m the one with the gun.” She raised it so it was right in his face, careful to keep her finger on the trigger.
“You already said you weren’t going to kill me,” he scoffed. “But I already knew that. You’re not the type.”
“I said I wouldn’t kill you, not that I wouldn’t shoot you,” she said. “Now, tell me.” She hated the
brutal intensity in her voice, but she had to know. She had to understand. She had to stop that voice in her head that still screamed Save her! after all these years. “Why did you say that?”
“You mean why did I repeat your sister’s last words to you?” Mancuso sneered.
Maggie’s hand tightened on Jake’s gun, the decades-old panic rising inside her. “How do you know?” she demanded in a trembling voice. “You’re too young to have been involved. Who told you?”
Mancuso smiled—not his slick, politico smile, but the desperate, trapped grimace of a man who knows he doesn’t have much time left. He struggled to his elbows, meeting Maggie’s eyes.
“I got a phone call,” he said. “Before you cut off my incoming calls at the cabin. The person on the line, he sure knew a lot about you, Maggie. He was very helpful, very informative. Very interested in assisting me. In getting to you. He told me how much you loved Erica. How that was the key to rattling you. He talked about how he’d used it against you before.” He straightened his arm, sitting upright.
“He—What do you mean . . . before?” Maggie asked, her voice shaking, tears forming in her eyes. She had to hold on to the gun with both hands to steady herself. “Who called you? Tell me!”
Bang.
Mancuso’s entire body jerked, his eyes open and blank as blood trickled down his forehead. A horrible gurgle came from his throat as his face went slack and he collapsed on the ground, dead.
Maggie spun around, her gun raised.
“Maggie, it’s me!” Paul came hurrying up the hill, lowering his pistol. “Don’t shoot!”
Maggie looked from Paul to Mancuso, dead on the ground, lost to her. All the answers she needed—lost. Just like Erica. Just like Erica’s killer.
“What did you do? Why did you kill him?” Maggie asked, fury roaring through her like a wildfire. She crouched down to check Mancuso’s pulse, but she knew it was no use.
He was gone.
“I got a ride in one of the cars following you,” Paul explained. “Jake said you ran into the park after Mancuso. He told me to go after you since the EMTs wouldn’t let him. Kayla’s okay. On her way to the hospital.”
“Why the hell did you shoot him?” Maggie demanded. “He was just about to—” She wanted to scream. What was Mancuso going to tell her? Did he have the name of this person who knew so much about her? Who was he? Had he been watching her? Was she in danger? She had to know. Erica’s killer . . . she was this close to finding out his identity—she had to know who he was.
She had to know where Erica’s body was.
“He was reaching for a knife, Mags,” Paul said. He bent down, rolling Mancuso’s body over onto its side. Sure enough, there was a knife on the ground.
Maggie let out a breath. She couldn’t be angry at Paul. But if only she had had a few seconds more . . .
Frustration and relief twined inside her as she sagged onto the ground, all the fight draining out of her. Paul had probably saved her life. But he’d also prevented her from discovering the one piece of information she’d spent her life trying to find.
“Come on, Maggie,” Paul said. “We should get you to the hospital.”
He reached out a hand to help her up, but Maggie rose to her feet on her own, straightening, her body aching with pain now that the adrenaline was starting to fade.
“Are you okay?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” she lied, staring out into the distance at the lights of the city flickering in the gray dawn.
But nothing could be further from the truth.
He was still out there. The man who abducted her. The man who killed Erica.
The man who took her sister from her.
She knew that now for sure. And he had meddled in her life for the last time.
She was going to find him.
And she was going to make him pay.
Chapter 64
The hospital’s fluorescent lights hurt Maggie’s eyes as she made her way through the halls, looking for Jake’s room. She’d been up for who knows how long, too jittery to sleep. Her body was one giant ache, but she was unhurt other than a few bumps and bruises. She was more worried about Jake.
She knocked lightly on the door before ducking her head into his room.
He was lying on the bed, his eyes half-closed. His dark hair was tousled boyishly and his tan skin was paler than usual, but otherwise he looked remarkably good for a guy who’d been shot just a few hours ago. Though she was a little biased, she’d admit. Jake O’Connor would probably look good after crossing a desert with no water or sunscreen.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said, her heart contracting at the sight of him looking so uncharacteristically helpless.
He smiled at her, a bit lopsided, as if he was still a little loopy.
“They give you the good pain pills?” she asked, setting the flowers she’d brought on the table next to his bed.
He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t like that stuff. Don’t need it, anyway; it’s no big deal.”
“You got shot,” she said. “It is a big deal.”
He shrugged. “It’s happened before, and I got over it,” he insisted. Then he looked at the table and chuckled. “You brought me . . . flowers?” He looked up at her with a wry smile.
She blushed with embarrassment. Flowers seemed like such a weird thing to give a tough guy like him, but she didn’t know what else to bring. “Black poplar,” she explained. “I told the woman at the flower shop to find me something manly. She said they symbolized courage, so I thought it was fitting. You were mighty courageous out there.”
His grin widened. “I think you like me, Ms. Kincaid,” he teased her. “And you’re pretty crazy brave yourself, ma’am. When I get out of here, remind me to get you your own black poplar bouquet.”
Maggie rolled her eyes, not bothering to hide her amusement.
“Come sit,” he said, patting the bed next to him. She did, trying to hide her worried expression when she got a closer look at the thick wad of bandages on his shoulder.
“Did anyone update you on the case?” she asked, because they could talk about flowers for only so long.
“Frank stopped by, but he got a call and had to run before he got into it. Fill me in?”
“Senator Thebes has been arrested. The grand jury is sure to indict him. And there’s plenty of evidence to put him away for a nice long sentence—maybe life.”
“That’s where that bastard belongs,” Jake said.
“And there’s going to be a massive investigation into the CIA director’s practices,” Maggie said. “I think the only reason they haven’t fired him instantly is because they have to weed out who was loyal to him and Black before they select his replacement. Frank said the intelligence community is really pissed.”
“They should be,” Jake said, a tinge of anger in his voice. “There used to be honor among spies.”
“I guess times change,” Maggie said. “But Kayla’s awake,” she went on in a happier tone. “And she’s going to be all right. No lasting damage, thank God. The hospital is keeping her one more day, just for observation. I spoke to Mrs. Thebes. She’s already hired the best divorce lawyer in DC, so I think she plans to take the senator to the cleaners, which is just what he deserves.”
“Smart lady,” Jake said. “And good mom.”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Kayla’s going to need her. After this nightmare, getting back to normal won’t be easy, but it’ll be better with her mom backing her up.”
“You know that from experience, don’t you?” Jake asked.
“Something like that,” Maggie said, thinking about her own mother, of how hard she’d fought for Maggie after she got home. Every little thing had terrified her, from the traffic outside to her father’s footsteps in the hall. Her mother had never acted as if her fears were silly. She’d been there every time Maggie woke up screaming from a nightmare those first few years.
“So what’s next?” Jake asked, nudging her with his leg.
Maggie hesitated, looking out the hospital window for a long moment. “I don’t know,” she replied, turning back to focus on Jake’s face, wearing a serious expression. “Frank . . . he wants me to come back.”
“To the Bureau?”
Maggie nodded.
Jake leaned back, his eyebrows scrunched thoughtfully. “So, you gonna do it?” he asked, looking at her intently.
Maggie wanted to laugh, because he asked the question as if he already knew her answer.
“You know, if you’d asked me that a week ago, I would’ve laughed in your face,” Maggie said. “But now . . .”
“Things are different,” Jake finished for her, nodding his head in comprehension.
She smiled, the warm comfort of his understanding wrapping around her.
“Everything’s different,” she said frankly, hoping he’d know what she meant.
He reached out, caressing her cheek with a rough, warm palm. “For me too,” he said.
She turned her head so her lips pressed against the callused skin.
“I think I’m going to take Frank up on it,” she said. “It felt good, having that sense of purpose again, you know?” Despite its rough and rocky path through this mission, her self-confidence was far less shaky now—she was confident that she could do good work again. And she had another, even more compelling reason: She had been wrong to set aside pursuing Erica’s killer. Now that she knew he was still out there, she wouldn’t rest. She couldn’t.
She would bring him to justice—at the end of her gun.
“I do,” Jake said. “Completely. A woman like you . . . well, let’s just say you’re no slacker, are you?”
Maggie laughed. “Definitely not. But, speaking of slack . . .” she said with a mischievous smile. “You know the funny thing about federal employment? I said I quit, but technically, I’m just on extended leave. Frank’s tricky like that. So that means my vacation days didn’t disappear.”
Jake’s grin widened as he caught her drift. “How much time do we have?” he asked.
Her smile was bright. Happiness flooded her at the sound of that we. “Five weeks,” she replied.