by Alex Ander
On one knee, her left arm cocked, her chest heaving, Devlin shot a glance toward the assailants.
“They’re all down, Devlin.”
She turned back to him, a lock of hair swaying before settling in front of her face.
Stealing glimpses of her fist, he eyeballed her. “It’s all over.”
Nodding once, she lowered her arm, filled her lungs, and exhaled. A moment later, her chin fell to her chest.
Randall followed her gaze.
Devlin tucked the stray tuft behind an ear and locked eyes with him.
Still stiff-arming her breasts, he retracted his hands as if he had touched a hot stove. “Sorry. My bad.”
Devlin stood.
Randall joined her.
Both of them gaped at the carnage. Dozens of holes dotted the trashed cabin’s four walls. Beams of light poured in from all angles. Two, bullet-ridden bodies lay near a third corpse, the tip of a survival knife protruding from the dead woman’s back. She had unwittingly ‘fallen on her sword.’
Devlin found and holstered her 45 ACP before making a full pass around the table.
Randall searched the pockets of the dead, coming up empty on ID’s, but scavenging weapons and ammunition.
She stooped and retrieved a black, rectangular object. After blowing on her cell phone, she wiped the device across her jeans and pressed a side button. The mobile’s screen illuminated, and she found the place in the building that had provided a steady signal.
Randall spotted her. “What are you doing?”
“This location’s been compromised.” She tapped out a number. “I need to get word to my people.”
He drew near to her. “Have you stopped to consider that maybe your people are behind all this?”
She glared at him.
“Think about it.” He pivoted and thrust a down turned finger at a deceased invader. “These are not the same men from the accident.” He kicked a dead man’s combat boot. “Unlike these guys, none of those folks were dressed in fatigues. They were in plain clothes. My guess is,” he gestured at the bodies, “these reinforcements were called in after the initial attacked failed. And, if that’s the case, then,” remembering the call she had placed, he glanced at Devlin’s phone, “somebody told them where we were.”
She pulled the mobile away from her face a half inch. “There could’ve been more we didn’t see...at the crash site. They could’ve geared up and followed the trail you left.”
“Only,” shaking his head, he tapped his chest, “I knew what to look for. There’s no way they used those markings to find us.”
Lowering the mobile another half inch, she squinted at the window, her mind seeing the marauders sneaking through the woods. They made a two-pronged approach, flanking us. Professionals.
“You placed only one call.” Randall jabbed a digit toward the phone she held.
Hearing a ringing noise through the gadget’s speaker, Devlin eyed the cell before tapping the red icon of a telephone receiver. She bit her lower lip, put hands on her hips, and stared at the floor.
“They knew exactly where we were, Devlin.” He hesitated. “May I call you Devlin? I think we’re beyond official protocols now, don’t you? After all, I did just feel you up a minute ago.”
She whipped her head toward him.
He arched his brows. “Too soon for humor?”
Her look hardened.
He nodded. “Too soon.” A beat. “Anyway, until we know what—and who...or is it whom? I never can remem—” he waved a dismissive hand. “Until we know what’s going on, I’m afraid,” he swung a forefinger back and forth between him and the deputy marshal, “we’re the only ones we can rely on.”
Still biting her lip, Devlin looked away and pinched the bridge of her nose. She grimaced when she touched the spot Pony had smacked with her forehead. I can’t believe someone from my agency is behind this. She huffed and shook her head. He’s right. Until I can disprove it... she let the phone fall to the floor, I have to assume that... and stomped on the contraption twice, my own people want me dead.
Randall watched her, read her. He pressed his lips together. Betrayal...never a good look on anyone. “Here,” he held out two, twelve-round Taurus 24/7 OSS magazines, “the forty-fives in these’ll work with your 1911.”
She glimpsed the ammunition carriers.
A second later, he took her hand and slapped the square tubes into her palm. “You can wonder why your agency wants to kill you, later. Right now, we need to put some distance between us...and this place.” He stepped over bodies and left the house.
After another look at the mess surrounding her, she shoved the Taurus magazines into back pockets and followed his path into the waiting sunshine.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 15
Full of Surprises
4:23 p.m.
Devlin stepped off the porch, “This way,” and veered right. “We’ll loop back around and cut through the woods. From there, we can flag down a car and drive to the Marshal’s Office in Mexico City.” Realizing she was walking alone, she stopped and eyed Randall. “What is it? A second ago, you were the one hot to get away from here.”
“I thought we discussed this. We don’t know who’s against us, so we must assume...everyone’s against us, especially the wonderful folks at the Marshals Service.”
“What...you think this conspiracy encompasses all levels of the agency?”
“Until we know otherwise,” he nodded one time, “yes.”
Devlin pivoted and stared at nature, contemplating her situation. She had not fathomed the depth of the treachery that had consumed her life. If he’s right, then I truly am...all alone. She turned back and eyed Randall.
“And your plan to go deeper into a country that hasn’t exactly been that hospitable to you thus far...” He let his words hang in the air.
“What do you propose?”
He looked at the ground. “When I was in my late teens, a friend of mine and me had just finished a day of skiing. It was late at night, and we’d gotten lost on some country roads. We must’ve,” Randall made rings in the air with a down turned index finger, “driven around in circles for the better part of an hour before we found the highway.”
Devlin crossed arms over her chest and shifted weight to one foot.
He pumped a palm at her. “Indulge me for a second. Anyway, when I got home, I told my grandfather about it. Pops laid one of his meaty hands on my shoulder and said to me...‘Son, if you’re ever lost again,’” Randall knifed the air in front of him, “‘just point your car in the direction of home, and sooner or later you’ll make it back.’”
Devlin frowned at him.
Randall pointed right. “The Sierra Madre Oriental Mountains are that way.” He aimed the digit in the opposite direction, “The Gulf of Mexico is that way,” before gesturing beyond her shoulder. “That way is Mexico City.” He jerked a thumb backward, toward the house. “Home—our home—is that way. Taking Pops advice, we need to,” he motioned toward the area behind him again, “point this train in the same direction.”
“So your plan is to just hoof it north...all the way home?”
He laughed. “Not exactly. Look, I’m not trying to step on your toes, Devlin, but,” he turned up his palms and glanced around, “I know this area. I have contacts. I can get us to the border. And,” he dipped his forehead at her, “your credentials can get us across that border.” A moment passed. “I’d say we’re a perfect match.”
She scowled at him.
“When we’re on American soil,” he brought his wrists together, “you can slap the cuffs on me again until everything gets sorted out.”
Seeing a map of Mexico in her head, she gave the woods to the south a hard look before eyeing the trees on either side of her. We’re a heck of a lot closer to Texas than we are Mexico City. She arched her back and twisted her torso to loosen a muscle she had tweaked during the scuffle.
Randall ogled the rising breasts
he had accidentally fondled earlier. He quickly shut his eyes and shook his head. She’s married, Noah. Show some respect. He observed the lines on her forehead. “We’re back to that trust thing, Marshal.”
She gave him a look.
“Sorry...Deputy Marshal. Maybe by the time this is finished, I’ll have that down pat.” He paused. “Remember, I have a dog in this race too. I want to make it home just as much as you want to get home to your husband.”
Bristling, Devlin dropped hands onto her hips. “What makes you think I’m married?”
He pointed at her barren-of-jewelry left hand. “Even though you have very little hair on your fingers, your left ring finger has none...suggesting something’s been rubbing against it.”
She spied the appendage in question.
“And while there’s no tan line, there is a slight indentation on that finger, alluding to the possibility you’ve been married for only a short time. If I were a betting man, I’d say no more than six months.”
Devlin looked away. “Impressive.”
He lifted a shoulder.
She confronted him. “And where’d you learn that neat little trick?”
“Before joining the DEA, I spent a few years over at another three-letter agency...the Central Intelligence Agency. I could read an asset and know more about him than he knew about himself.”
Her eyes narrowing, she gave him the once-over. “Well, you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? Anything else I should know?”
“I’d love to tell you more, but,” he gave the area a quick scan and bobbed his head backward, toward the north, “how about we walk and chew gum at the same time? The good folks,” he motioned at the house, his mind’s eye seeing the bodies inside, “who sent them...might send more when the dead don’t report back. And,” he glanced around again, “we’re exposed out here.”
After giving the terrain her own visual assessment, she extended a hand. “Lead the way, mister man-of-a-thousand-revelations.”
Randall started to go around the structure.
“And just so you know, this changes nothing. For the time being, our interests align. When we get back to the States, I’m still taking you into custody. From there, the courts can deal with you.”
He stopped and half turned toward her, flashing a short-lived smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
*******
Half hour later
4:49 p.m.
“I’m curious. Since the firefight at the road, you’ve had the means to free yourself. Why haven’t you?”
Staying close to the tree line, Devlin and Randall, she on his left, marched along the edge of a wide stretch of farmland. Tall trees to the west gave them shade, but the humidity was relentless. Their shirts were moist. Their skin glistened.
Randall half shrugged. “I’m the unknown in this scenario. As far as you knew, I was a wanted man. Freeing myself would have only reinforced that belief. You had to be the one to make the decision to let me go.”
They walked a few paces.
“Plus, my life wasn’t in any immediate danger.”
Devlin glanced his way. “Ambushed by armed men and attacked again at that house doesn’t constitute immediate danger? You were unarmed, and your hands were chained to your waist.”
He returned her look, adding a brief smile. “Minor inconveniences.” He faced forward. “I was trained by one of the CIA’s best. He taught me how to...defend myself...in many, many ways; most of those ways requiring no weapons,” he lifted his hands, “except these.”
“As long as we’re on the topic of the CIA, I have another question.”
“Fire away.”
“Ever since we met, you’ve been plying your CIA tradecraft on me...reading me like a book, haven’t you?”
He half grinned. “Sorry...force of habit I guess. I see someone, and my mind starts analyzing that person’s every word, every body movement. I notice things most people don’t.”
Devlin wiped sweat from her forehead, swallowed hard, and smacked her lips. “Well, you can knock it off. It’s unnerving.”
Randall held out his water bottle, one of two he had taken from the dead men. “I’ll do my best.”
Having consumed her bottle ten minutes ago, she eyed the clear liquid in his and glanced at him. “Did you use your CIA training to figure out I was thirsty?”
“Nope. All I needed was my humanity for that one.” He nudged her arm. “Take it.”
She shook her head. “That’s yours.”
“You lost a lot of fluids back there wrestling with that woman. You need it more than I do.”
Flicking her eyes toward the refreshment, Devlin drew a scant amount of saliva deeper into her mouth.
“Besides, I’m like a camel. I can go for miles without needing water.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.”
He let out a short laugh. “Tough, devoted and selfless. Good qualities for a mother to have.”
She whipped her head his way. “How’d you know I was a mother?”
He turned up a corner of his mouth. “I didn’t...until you—”
“Just,” she nodded, “confirmed it for you.”
“Also, while you’re a fit woman overall,” after glimpsing her midsection, “your little tummy bulge led me to believe,” he lifted his gaze to be greeted with a nasty if-looks-could-kill stare, “you had,” before faltering and turning away, “have...led me to believe you have a terrific figure.”
Outwardly, her expression remained unchanged. Inwardly, she felt her defensive posture toward this man soften ever so slightly. “You know, for a CIA spook, that was a terrible recovery.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
They took a few more paces.
“Anyway, back to the matter at hand.” He offered her the water.
“I told you. That’s yours.”
“Okay,” Randall unscrewed the cap, “we’ll compromise...and split it.” He took a pull and extended the skinny, plastic cylinder.
She examined the container. “That wasn’t half.”
Randall wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Close enough. Now,” he pressed the bottle to her body, “at the risk of raising my voice and pissing you off even further, will you just take the dang water, Devlin...before you see me get angry?”
She took a couple swallows and glimpsed him. “So, all this time, I’ve been witnessing the charming side of Noah Randall?”
Facing her, he flashed his best, on-demand attempt at a charming smile. “How’ve I been so far?”
Devlin wavered. “Do I have to answer that?”
He laughed. “I’m afraid you just did.”
She forfeited the water bottle. “Where are we going, anyway?”
He finished off the drink and gestured at the approaching trees. “I have a friend—from my CIA days—who lives near here. He’ll be able to get us some transportation. We should be at his place in about an hour or so.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 16
Black SUV
7:04 p.m.
alexandria, virginia
After stopping the car in front of the garage and killing the engine, Ashford leaned forward and checked the side mirror to his left before scanning the area to his right. Complete with tinted windows and government plates, the black four-door SUV he had spotted at Cassandra’s school, the park, and outside the ice cream shop—twenty minutes ago—was not in sight.
In the backseat, her lips haloed in chocolate ice cream, Cassandra licked the dark mound atop the sugar cone. “When is Mommy,” she dragged her tongue across the cold treat again, “coming home?”
His watchful eyes settling on the girl, Ashford snickered at the mess on her face. “She’ll be home soon, Cass.” He faced forward and got out, his amusement fading. After scanning the street and opening the back door, Ashford noticed his stepdaughter had wriggled free of her seat belt. “What have I told you about doing that?”
&
nbsp; “But I just now got out.”
“Yeah,” he lifted the youngster, “right,” and set her feet on the driveway. “You know it’s not saf—”
Cassandra screamed.
Ashford took a fist to the right side of his face. Stars floated amid darkness, as another blow found his stomach. He stretched out his arms and grabbed the vehicle’s roof and doorframe.
Cassandra screeched again.
Regaining his senses, Ashford saw the next incoming punch. In one motion, he rose to his full height, blocked the strike with a forearm, and delivered a left cross to a stranger’s jaw.
The masked attacker toppled over backwards.
Ashford clutched a second masked attacker, who had a hold of Cassandra’s arm, and sent a knee into the man’s gut.
The little girl wailed, as she twisted free and dropped to her butt.
Attacker #1 righted himself and charged.
Ashford slammed #2’s face onto the trunk and thrust his right foot into #1’s chest before bouncing #2’s head off the sheet metal again.
Gunshots rang out, and bullets skipped off the trunk, shattering the back window.
Ashford flinched. A split second later, he shoved #2, scooped up Cassandra, and darted for cover behind the car’s front bumper.
Tires squealed, and a black SUV, its windows blacked out, sped by the house.
The assailants ran.
Ashford felt tiny blades cutting into his bare arms. He looked down. Cassandra had a death grip on him. Her whole body was shaking. “Are you hurt, Cass?” He examined her for injuries.
Trembling, she managed to pivot her head twice.
The big man swallowed her up in his arms. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re safe now. They’re gone. There’s nothing to be afraid of...I’m right here.” He stroked the back of her hair and kissed the top of her head several times. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.”
She whimpered.
The porch light turned on, illuminating the front yard.
Devlin’s father ran toward the driveway, his bare feet slapping the pavement. “What’s going on? I heard gunshots.” Father Mahoney went to one knee in front of his granddaughter. “Is she—”