by DiAnn Mills
Headlights swung through the complex and toward the rear gate. He knelt in the bushes and pulled out his iPhone. When the driver pulled through, Daniel made sure his flash was off and snapped a pic of the license plate, but the woman behind the wheel had two small children with her.
What a waste.
Time passed and ushered in the dawn. A man dressed in black raced toward the gate. Not Cayden. Too muscular. Daniel pulled his Glock. Thatcher Graves sped behind the man, his size and gait giving him away.
“Stop. FBI!” Thatcher said.
The man spun around with his weapon aimed at Thatcher. Daniel fired at the neck, bringing him down.
Thatcher jogged to the body and examined it, feeling for a pulse. He glanced up. “He’s dead. Thanks.”
“Considering you set Wilmington and me up, you’re welcome.”
“You were supposed to call—”
“Now’s not the time to discuss it. It is what it is.”
“This is your fault, not mine.”
“Right.” Daniel reined in the anger. “Who’s your friend?”
“No clue.” He grabbed for his phone. “Calling this in.”
“He wasn’t alone.”
Thatcher stood and walked to the iron gate. “We counted two.”
Daniel lifted a brow. “Where?”
“A second man took out one of the security drivers after you left. I don’t have a status.”
“MO?”
“Broke the agent’s neck. Trained.”
Daniel’s phone vibrated with a call from Wilmington. He answered. “I see a man scaling the top of the brick wall. Looks like he has a motorcycle a few yards away.”
Daniel took off running toward the BMW, keeping his phone active. “Wilmington’s spotted the other guy.”
“I’m going with you,” Thatcher said.
Daniel called over his shoulder. “You’ve got a body to handle, and I can’t wait. I’ll call you.” He turned his attention to his phone. “What’s happening?”
“You won’t like this. Laurel’s parked behind your Beamer.”
CHAPTER 63
6:30 A.M. WEDNESDAY
Daniel pressed the gas to keep up with the motorcycle, a Suzuki Hayabusa, one of the fastest made. The driver, dressed in black, flew toward the 249. He wore a helmet, making it impossible to ID him. Laurel stayed on Daniel’s bumper. He hadn’t called her yet. Better to take care of the mess in front of him, then deal with the woman on his rear.
“Told you we’d make a good team,” Wilmington said. “She appeared out of nowhere while I watched the gate.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No. I’d probably demand she go home, and she’d turn her weapon on me.” He sighed. “I’m afraid she’ll get hurt. Unfortunately my protection detail is either dead or in the hospital. Most of the guys have left since I abandoned my old business practices. That leaves you and me and maybe the FBI.”
“We’ll sort it out later. Did your man pull through surgery?”
“Yes. He’s in intensive care. His girlfriend’s with him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. Told me Vega tossed the grenade. Hey, I heard a shot back there.”
“Bad guy dead. Brought him down before he could pump a bullet into Thatcher.”
Wilmington whipped to him. “Now he owes you.”
“He’s okay. Personality differences.” Daniel shook his head. “I’m mad. He wanted me to find you and then call him. I’m not an idiot. He knew where you’d gone from the hospital.”
The Suzuki sped through a red light and whipped onto 249 north.
“I have to call Thatcher,” Daniel said. “Deal with the other junk when this is over.”
“Do I have a vote?”
“It’s not about our egos. But it was a good thing he stood on the other side of the gate back there or I might have broken his jaw.” He pressed in the agent’s number. “We’re now heading up 249 toward Tomball.” He described the motorcycle. “I’ll keep you posted.” He laid the phone on his console. “If that’s Cayden, he’s done his homework. He’ll know where he’s going.”
“Special ops. He planned for every scenario. Survival and outsmarting us.”
Daniel wove into the right lane, ready to seize an opportunity to run him off the road. “At least we know he hasn’t used the bank account numbers from the life insurance apps. That must be his grand finale along with the fund-raiser. Works to make the FBI look inept.”
“Right. Gives him genius status.”
“Good call. So if he hasn’t programmed the withdrawals, then we need to keep him away from online activity.” He added pressure to the gas.
The Suzuki darted to the left. Daniel crossed over behind him. Where to now?
6:40 A.M. WEDNESDAY
Laurel kept up with the chase. She ignored a call from SSA Preston, still fuming with him not giving her all the information. Definitely her career ended. She took a call from Thatcher, who offered that he’d learned next to nothing about the chase in front of her. But when Daniel swerved into the right lane and she had a clear view of the motorcycle, she pressed in Wilmington’s number.
“I need a little history,” she said.
“She wants to know what’s going on,” he said, obviously to Daniel. “I’ve got the go-ahead, and we’re on speaker,” Wilmington said. “Where were you?”
“With SSA Preston.”
“What are you not saying?” Daniel said. “Never mind. Why did you show up outside your apartment alone?”
“Because I realized Thatcher hadn’t told you everything. Preston insisted he wouldn’t have set you two up. But I had to see for myself.”
Wilmington snorted. “Remains to be seen. Have you talked to Mr. T.?”
“Yes. Said Daniel saved his life. I asked why you were used as targets.”
“And?”
“Claims he had no idea you’d show up there tonight. He found out Wilmington and I had reservations on a late-night flight to Paris. How very nice of Cayden to use our real names. Looks like we’ve been the scapegoats all along.”
The motorcycle sped around a pickup. Daniel chased after him with Laurel in close pursuit. “He’ll have another plan.”
“He always does,” Laurel said. “Roadblocks are in motion but with the rush-hour traffic going both ways, it’ll be slow. For whatever it’s worth, I learned something from Thatcher.”
“Is this supposed to be the grace thing?
“Sorta. Some kind of family emergency. He’s catching the first flight out Sunday morning, providing we have arrests made.”
“Excuses that almost get people killed demand an apology,” Wilmington said. “His ego’s the size of Texas.”
“Let’s concentrate on keeping up with the motorcycle,” Daniel said. “Laurel, you don’t have a partner. Why don’t you hold back until the FBI joins us?”
“Forget it. I had a choice of doing nothing or getting into trouble.”
“What do you mean?”
“Preston’s not happy with me.”
Daniel gritted his teeth. “Laurel, please wait for Thatcher. You don’t have anyone covering your back.”
“I made my decision. Pay attention to the motorcycle. Not me. Run him off the road.” Laurel ended the call and raced on behind Daniel.
Where was the rider going? He seemed to fly and knew how to control the motorcycle. He veered toward the shoulder.
Thatcher phoned. She hesitated to answer, but they needed backup.
“Yes.”
“I’m ten to fifteen minutes out. Another car will be there in less time. Where’s he headed?”
“Not sure. Wilmington gave me the motorcycle’s license plate numbers.” She recited them. “The rider’s just run across the embankment to the feeder off the highway.”
CHAPTER 64
6:50 A.M. WEDNESDAY
Daniel bounced the BMW over the hilly embankment after the Suzuki. The rider sped in and around feeder traffic,
swung a right, and raced down a side road. Daniel stayed on his tail, fearing a wide stretch of less-traveled road would leave him in the motorcycle’s wake.
“If this guy is Cayden, what he did back at the complex is sufficient for bringing charges and we’ve managed to stop the scam. The FBI can detain him and cancel the fund-raiser,” Wilmington said. “Won’t have the secret partner, but I’m tired of dealing with him.”
“What if it’s not him?”
The Suzuki slowed behind the early morning vehicles pouring into a high school.
Daniel’s mind swung to the worst possible scenario. “As much as I want him arrested, I want clear of those kids.”
“He’ll endanger every one of them.” Wilmington pounded his fist on the dash. “Think about it, Daniel. If he hurts any of them, every parent will be out for blood.”
“Let’s hope he stays cool through this area.” Cayden’s past indicated his own agenda—body count held no meaning.
Traffic slowed further as kids turned into the student parking lot. Horns blared. The Suzuki wove in and out of the vehicles, no doubt entertaining kids. The rider looked like a dark hero or a comic strip character.
“Stay on him.” Wilmington’s words were uttered like a prayer. “If he’d just pass by the school.”
A Honda rear-ended a truck.
A bicycle hit the ditch.
Two boys jumped a barbed-wire fence into a cow pasture.
The Suzuki turned right into the student parking lot. And Daniel followed. “I’m familiar with the layout of this school, and there’s an entrance on the other side of the building,” he said. “If he exits there, the kids and teachers will be safe.”
Wilmington groaned. “He parked by the football stadium beside a Camry.”
The car would shield him from law enforcement fire. “Is he calling us out? Or does he want to make a—?” Daniel’s words were clipped off in midair. From under his leather jacket, the rider had produced an FN P90—an ultrashort “bullpup” submachine gun.
Oh, God, don’t let him open fire on these kids.
Daniel quickly brought the BMW to a halt several dozen yards from the rider and waved to draw his attention away from the others. “I’ll handle him. You and Laurel stay back. Looks like we need a SWAT team and a negotiator.”
He pulled out his gun and jogged toward the Suzuki driver. They’d talk. Find out what he wanted and pray no one got hurt. He gestured for the kids to move away. Teachers and a security officer from the high school herded them like sheep toward the closest building. Sirens alerted him to other police officers en route. But the kids wanted to be in the center of the action, as though they were watching a movie shoot.
“Are you a one-man show?” The rider addressed Daniel. He had a Hispanic accent.
“I just want to discuss the situation.”
“You mean stall until the FBI and HPD arrive?” He sneered.
Daniel ventured closer. “I don’t want innocent people hurt. What can I do for you?”
He shifted his weapon. “Laurel Evertson. She comes with me, or I turn my rifle on these kids. Your choice.”
No way would Laurel go with him. “That’s not in any deal.”
“Want to guess how many of those kids I can level?”
“I’ll go.” Laurel stood fifty feet to Daniel’s right. She dropped her Glock on the pavement and raised her hands.
“No. That’s crazy.” Daniel refused to look at her, keeping his gaze fixed on the rider. One slip, and Daniel would drop him.
She moved toward the man, shoulders erect, steps determined.
“Laurel, listen to me,” Daniel said. All the warnings about emotional involvement churned through him.
She ignored him, advancing toward the gunman.
“Take me instead,” Wilmington said behind Daniel. “I’m worth more money than you can imagine.”
The man laughed. “I’m no fool.” As soon as Laurel stood near him, he grabbed her arm. “Get into the car.” He opened the passenger side of the Camry’s front seat. “Come to daddy, Laurel.”
She obeyed. Not even a look back.
Daniel’s senses froze. He calculated the timing of the man walking around the car to the driver’s side. One second was all he needed. But the man kept his weapon aimed at Laurel while he made his way around the front to the other side.
Flashes of what Daniel could do pounded against his skull—sending fire into the car’s tires, hopping onto the motorcycle and following, taking a shot with a prayer the man wouldn’t squeeze the trigger first and kill Laurel.
No good options. From the corner of his eye, he saw that patrol cars, an ambulance, and a few unmarked vehicles had arrived. But they stayed back.
Daniel didn’t have negotiator skills, and he needed them desperately.
“Gotcha,” the man called out. “Never underestimate someone who is smarter than you. Better trained too.”
“I’ll remember that,” Daniel said.
Laurel needed to act now if Daniel had a chance of bringing the man down. As if reading his mind, she opened the car door, diverting the rider’s attention.
Daniel pulled the trigger, sending a bullet into his chest and leveling him to the ground. Laurel rushed to the body.
“He’s gone,” she said.
Daniel checked the rider’s pulse and confirmed the man was dead. He lifted the helmet.
Ignacio Vega.
He pulled out Vega’s phone. His last call had been to Natalie Cayden.
8:45 A.M. WEDNESDAY
Laurel would never be able to figure out men. SSA Preston and Thatcher Graves were two of them. Although her career had been threatened, Preston responded to Vega’s takedown as commendable. The FBI moved in on Cayden’s hotel, but Natalie was gone, leaving Geoff and Erin wondering why and where.
How much of the operation had Natalie’s name on it? Where had she gone?
Had Cayden arranged to have her disposed of like Fields?
She’d worked tough cases in the past. But none that tugged at her heart more than this one. Her mind flew to Abby and Earl, now out of harm’s way. But what of the other victims? The families who’d lost everything and those who were deceased? The vendetta for Jesse’s death clung to her like a parasite. At times, she thought it all would eat her alive before she helped arrest Cayden and Wilmington.
As sure as she breathed another breath, she’d not give up.
CHAPTER 65
3:30 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Daniel hoped sitting with Wilmington and Cayden in a hotel room made the best use of his time, since it trickled away moment by moment. Cayden had asked his old Army bud to stay with him until Natalie returned or was found. He’d tossed out the roses in a fit of anger, destroying the bug. Not a whole lot Wilmington or Daniel could say with two FBI agents in the room.
“Did you two have an argument?” Wilmington said privately to Cayden when Erin left the suite’s living room. “Tell me the truth.”
“No. She went down to get a cup of coffee and didn’t return. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”
Wilmington leaned in. “Why did she call Vega and talk to him for ten minutes?”
“Please do not whisper,” an agent said.
Cayden’s face hardened. “Why aren’t you two out looking for my wife?”
“Sir, HPD received a tip that your life may be in danger too and requested our support. We’re assigned to protect you.”
“Do you think my wife is dead? What can you tell me?”
“Sir, we haven’t been briefed. All we can do is follow orders, not issue them.”
“Geoff, this will be sorted out soon,” Wilmington said.
Cayden covered his face. “I don’t know why Natalie called Vega, who is now dead for an unspeakable crime. I have no idea what he was doing or why he found it necessary to speak to my wife.”
Erin burst into the room, tears streaming down her face.
He embraced her. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“Has Mommy been hurt?”
“We just can’t find her right now.”
She crawled onto his lap and he held her tightly. “Is this like the last time?”
Daniel’s ears perked.
“Sir, your wife has gone missing in the past?” the same agent said.
“She went shopping and forgot her phone. I panicked—guess it’s my military training—and I thought the worst. Erin and I went looking for her. It was all a misunderstanding. Right, Erin?”
She nodded. “Mommy saw my aunt Josie and forgot the time.”
Daniel wished he could explore that conversation.
“Geoff, what do you want me to do?” Wilmington said. “She’s not been to the airport and HPD has a BOLO out on her. Security cameras filmed her leaving the hotel alone.”
“I don’t know.” He sniffed. “We planned this trip around my medical leave and the nonprofit fund-raiser. Should I cancel it?”
Cayden and Wilmington should earn awards for this performance.
“Might need to,” Wilmington said. “Are you even up to playing emcee tomorrow?”
Cayden’s eyes watered. “My asthma has kicked into overtime. All we have now are questions with no answers. Is it selfish for me to abandon help for the elderly at the last minute?”
“No one would blame you under these circumstances,” Wilmington said. “Donors will give regardless of a dinner and entertainment.”
“Sir,” the FBI agent said. “We know of your tireless efforts to assist the elderly afflicted with dementia. It would do those who support you a disservice to cancel your role at the fund-raiser.”
Cayden gave the man a slight smile. “Thanks. I’ll consider it. I know people give more generously to causes when they hear testimonies, and some of the out-of-town guests have already arrived.” He kissed Erin on the cheek. “Perhaps I should go ahead as planned. Natalie could open the door and all this could be explained.”
9:45 P.M. MOUNTAIN TIME, WEDNESDAY
Abby rocked alone on the front porch of the northern Colorado cabin where she and Earl were staying. They’d fished all day in the Fall River, and she’d batter-fried rainbow trout just the way he liked them. Who cared about cholesterol? The FBI agent guarding them had eaten fish and hush puppies until she feared he’d be sick.