by Alex Ander
“Gunshots were fired.”
Her eyes bulged.
“I think they came from a black SUV that I saw leaving the scene.”
“Did you get a license plate number?”
“No,” he faltered, “but...”
Devlin clenched her teeth. “Don’t try to protect me, Curt.” A second later, she heard a heavy sigh through the phone’s speaker.
“There was a black SUV following Cassie and me this afternoon...a black SUV with government plates.”
Standing erect, Devlin put a balled hand to her mouth.
“I saw it when I picked her up from school. I spotted it at the park...and at the ice cream shop. Jess, it had to be the same one I saw during the attack. That can’t be a coincidence.”
She looked toward the ceiling before glaring at the makeshift wall, her mind’s eye showing her an image of Randall on the other side. It’s NOT a coincidence.
“I don’t think this was a random mugging. My gut tells me we were targeted, but why...and by whom?”
Hearing Ashford’s voice through the phone, but not really listening, Devlin put her free hand on her hip and paced the room like a caged animal, a caged animal that was trapped and unable to get to her family, unable to keep them safe.
“You still there, Jessica?”
“I—” she swallowed, “I’m here.” Not saying a word, she made several passes over the same stretch of flooring.
“Jess, I’m sensing there’s something you’re not telling me. Is that true?”
She made a fist and bopped her puckered lips a few times. “Yes.”
“Okay, I’m officially worried now. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
She stopped pacing, yanked her hair free of the ponytail, and scratched her scalp. “The less you know the better.”
“And just what is that supposed to mean?”
Gaping at a mattress covering, Devlin jabbed a finger at the blanket as if her spouse were standing a foot away from her. “Listen to me, Curt. I’m up to my neck in it down here. I have to focus on finding a way out of this...” her mind had queued up the term ‘crap storm’ only to have another term, a vulgar type of storm, slip by her lips. “And I can’t do that if I’m worrying about my family. I need to know you’ll protect Cassie and my dad.”
“With my life, Jessica. You know that.”
Her chest swelled, “I know,” and she let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”
“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. You do what you need to do. I’ll take care of our family.”
One corner of her mouth lifted for a brief moment. He said ‘our family.’ He’s never said that before. “Thank you. I love you.”
“Love you too. Now, just make sure you get home to us.”
“I will.”
“And remember...you promised me you’d wear that push-up thing to bed.”
Envisioning the skimpy lingerie he had referenced, Devlin shook her head, aware of his attempt to ease her tension. “A promise I fully intend to keep.” A moment passed. “Take care of them, Curt.”
“You have my word.”
She laid the receiver on the phone’s cradle. Keeping her hand on the communication device, she hung her head, closed her eyes, and bit her lower lip. Twenty seconds passed before she drew in a long and slow breath, stopping when her chest had reached its apex. I know we haven’t been on speaking terms the last couple of years, but...she screwed up her face and squeezed the bridge of her nose...but I can’t take another loss. Please keep Cassie safe. If You take her from me...in her mind, Devlin saw her late husband in a hospital room; Blake Hawkins’ bullet-ridden body; Cassandra’s smiling face. Devlin exhaled and grabbed a couple short breaths through her mouth...I’m afraid it’ll break me. Please God, whatever bad I’ve done or good I haven’t done, leave her out of this. Just look after my little girl. I promise I’ll—
Standing tall, Devlin swiped fingers across her cheeks. “What am I doing?” Suck it up, Jess. It’s up to you to keep your daughter safe. Whipping her head toward the living room, she squinted while envisioning Randall in the out-of-sight space. Balling her hands, she stormed out of the bedroom.
*******
alexandria, virginia
Ashford disconnected the call and stared at the floor. What has she gotten herself into? His skin feeling clammy, he massaged the pain in his chest. Images and words flashed through his mind: the black SUV, the masked assailants, Cassandra, Devlin. The less you know the better...up to my neck in it down here. His world was zipping by him at a hundred miles an hour. I have to do something. What? You don’t know where she is, man.
“Excuse me.”
Ashford lowered hands onto hips and closed his eyes. Take care of them, Curt.
“Sir?”
Seeing his wife in his head, he heard his pledge to her. You have my word.
“Mr. Ashford?”
Ashford whirled around. “I’m...I’m sorry. What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to let you know that we have everything we need. All patrol cars will be keeping an eye out for anyone matching the descriptions you gave me. I’ve also entered the black SUV into the report, but without a license plate number—”
“It’ll be difficult to find.” Ashford nodded. “I know. Thank you, officer.”
“If you think of anything else, be sure to contact the police department.”
“Of course.” Ashford escorted the officer out of the house, closed the door, and ran up the stairs. He found Cassandra and her grandfather in the girl’s bedroom. She was asleep. Ashford beckoned Mahoney.
The priest rose from his perch beside the sleeping child and stepped into the hallway. “How’d it go with the police?”
Ashford shrugged. “They don’t have much to go on. Look,” he pointed at Cassandra, “I need you to pack a bag for her...and one for yourself too.”
Mahoney’s eyebrows came together.
Ashford waved off the religious man’s silent query. “I’ll fill you in on the details later. Right now I need to get you and your granddaughter somewhere else...somewhere safe.”
*******
6:39 p.m.
san fernando, mexico
Devlin fast walked across the room, “You son-of-a-bit—” and punched Randall.
His head rotating sideways, his ears hearing bone on bone, he felt her knuckles connect with the side of his face.
“Blake’s dead because of you.” She sent a fist into his gut.
He tightened his stomach muscles in time to lessen the blow.
“Now they’re targeting my family,” Devlin cocked her arm, “my little girl.”
Holding his chin, seeing the rage on her face, Randall lowered his hand, closed his eyes, and flexed his jaw muscles. Take the beating, Noah. It’s the least you can do for her.
She cussed at him a few more times.
After another second of bracing for the next strike, he half opened one eye, and saw her scuffling with his friend.
Devlin pushed Steele. “Let me go.”
Having dragged her away from Randall, the elder man held on to her while she struggled against his vice-like grip for another few seconds.
Lifting her hands, she stopped resisting. “I’m all right. I’m all right. Now...let...me...go.”
Steele looked at Randall.
Randall nodded.
Steele released her.
Devlin straightened her twisted clothing before running fingers through her hair. She gave Randall a hard look and walked away.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 19
GTO
7:47 p.m.
San fernando, mexico
In the last hour, Steele had worked his contacts in Mexico, setting up travel plans to find Devlin and Randall a safe route to Mexico’s border with the United States. The men had stepped out of the bunker, so Devlin could shower and use the facil
ities. After the trio had eaten a light meal and engaged in awkward conversation, the homeowner led his guests to a small barn behind the house.
Steele slid open double doors and ambled to the center of the space. “Give me a hand, Noah.”
The men rolled back a green heavyweight canvas tarp, revealing a red two-door 1965 Pontiac GTO convertible with chrome bumpers, chrome trim, and white-lettered black tires.
Randall let go of the tarp, “What the...” leaving his friend to lug the covering off the trunk by himself. “This,” he grabbed the passenger door and leaned into the open-topped vehicle, “is beautiful, Steely.” Steely was a nickname from Steele’s days at the CIA. The handle was a testament to the man’s unwavering commitment to a mission.
“Heads-up.” Steele flung his arm toward Randall.
The younger man snatched a set of keys out of the air and gave the muscle car another once-over. “This is the transportation you lined up for us?”
“It’s the only car I have.” Steele met Randall on the GTO’s starboard side and clamped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “So make damn sure you don’t get one scratch on her. You got it?”
Randall tendered a mischievous grin.
Steele rolled his eyes. “What am I saying?” He regarded his prized possession, as if he were saying goodbye to a deceased loved one. “After you’re done, I’ll be lucky if a few scratches are all she has on her.”
Randall opened the passenger door, slapped Steele on the back, “Don’t worry,” and strode to the driver’s side. “I’ll treat her like she was my wife.”
The older man squinted at him. “You’re divorced.”
Climbing behind the steering wheel, but stopping short of shutting the door, Randall eyed Steele, a wry grin on his face. “Fair point...my high school girlfriend then.” He closed the door and held up two overlapped fingers. “We were soul mates.”
Devlin sat in the passenger seat.
Chuckling, Steele shut her door, bent over, and placed crossed forearms on the car’s body. He dipped his head toward the back seat. “You’ll find some food and water and other niceties in that backpack. Oh,” he shoved a hand into a pocket on his shorts and hauled out a cell phone, “this works off the satellites.”
Devlin took the device and smiled at the generous man. “I can’t thank you enough for your help, Bill. I’ll see what I can do to get my agency to compensate you for,” she lifted hands and glimpsed the Pontiac’s interior, “all this.”
He waved a hand. “That’s not necessary. But you can do me a favor.”
“Anything.”
He jabbed an index finger at the driver. “Make sure he doesn’t destroy my car.”
Randall sniggered.
Steele stood erect and regarded the driver. “It was really good seeing you again, Noah. Maybe the next time you’re in the area, you can drop in for a real social call...without the Mexico’s Most Wanted moniker.” He shook Devlin’s hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jessica.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
He tapped the doorframe and stepped backward. “Paco will be waiting for you at the coordinates on the map.”
Randall turned the ignition. The engine rumbled. He punched the accelerator, and the motor growled. “Do you trust this Paco?”
“Oh, hell no. I don’t trust anybody in this country.”
Randall arched his brows.
“But I do trust everyone’s love of money. Believe me. He’ll be there.” Steele shot glances at the car’s occupants. “I’d tell you to watch your backs, but,” his gaze settled on Devlin, “something tells me the bastards threatening your family need to be watching theirs. Go get them, Jessica.”
She set her jaw. I will. A half second later, her features softened, and she nodded at the man. “Thank you, Bill.”
Randall navigated the 389 cubic inch, four-speed Pontiac out of the barn, waving an arm above his head. “Take care, old friend.”
Mental images of her daughter and her father popped into Devlin’s brain, as she replayed Steele’s parting words: ...the bastards threatening your family... Her stomach flopped, and her chest rose. Take it easy, Jess. She exhaled through her nostrils. They’re with Curt. He’ll take care of them.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 20
Friends
9:09 p.m.
potomac, maryland
His father-in-law on his right—the man a half step behind and clutching two suitcases—Ashford held Cassandra in one arm, as he set his duffel bag on the porch and pushed a button next to the front door.
Cassandra rubbed her eyes with both hands. “Why—” she yawned, “are we here, Ash?”
“We’re here to see a friend of mine.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
Ashford chortled to himself. Did I ask this many questions when I was six? “Think of it as a...a...as a...”
“Like the time we camped out in the living room.”
Pivoting his upper body, Ashford glimpsed the man behind him before looking at the little girl. “Yeah...like camping out in the living room.” A second passed. “Do you remember Raychel?”
Cassandra yawned again, “I’m tired,” and laid her head on Ashford’s shoulder.
He cupped the back of her head. “Close your eyes, Cass. You’ll be in bed in no time.”
The porch light turned on, and the door half opened. A five-eight woman wearing a Dallas Cowboys’ t-shirt, navy blue shorts, and white ankle socks stood in the archway. Her dark brown hair fell well below her shoulders and matched her brown eyes and year-round tanned skin; all blessings from her mixed-heritage parents, one Mexican and one Caucasian.
“Ash.” The woman ogled her late-night visitors. “What’s...why are...”
“Sorry for the intrusion, Cruz.” Ashford took a step, put his free hand on FBI Special Agent Raychel DelaCruz’s waist, and pecked her cheek. “I was hoping you’d let us crash here for the night.”
Her mouth agape, Cruz gave the threesome another look, “Um...sure...I guess.” A tick later, she backed up, “What am I saying?” and opened the door the rest of the way. “Yes, yes, of course you can. Come in. Come in.”
Ashford and Mahoney entered and set their bags on the floor.
Cruz shut the door and took Cassandra from her former FBI partner. “How about I take Cassie upstairs and put her to bed? She looks beat.”
Ashford nodded. “That would be great. Thanks.”
She headed for the staircase.
“Uh...Cruz?”
She turned around.
“I’ll explain all this when you get back.”
“I know. No worries.” She glimpsed the door. “Where’s Jessica?” Cruz and Devlin had crossed paths a year ago while working separate cases. Those cases had ended up converging on a gang leader trafficking women from other countries. During the last year, the two women had stayed in contact with each other.
“She’s not here.”
Cruz frowned. “Is everything okay between you two?”
Ashford flashed a fading smile. “Yes. We’re good. Like I said...I’ll explain everything.”
After studying him for a moment, she nodded, “Okay,” and carried Cassandra up the stairs, throwing a backward glance his way when she hit the halfway point.
“I heard the doorbell, Cruz.”
All eyes turned toward the loud voice coming from the upstairs walkway.
“Who was at the door?”
Dressed in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt—both articles of clothing sporting Detroit Lions’ logos—a five-eleven man with short, light brown hair wiped a towel over his face and looked up from the cell phone he was carrying. White wires ran from his ears to the device.
Ashford smiled and nodded at the man. “Hey Hardy.”
Former U.S. Marine turned covert operative Aaron Hardy pulled out the earbuds and returned the gesture. “Hey Ash.” He spied
the man next to Ashford, “What’s,” before glimpsing his approaching girlfriend and the child in her arms, “going...”
She bypassed Hardy.
He cranked his head around to follow her, “...on?”
Cruz smiled at him, “They’re staying the night,” before she ducked into a guest bedroom.
Facing the men on the first floor, Hardy gave them a single dip of his chin. “All right then. I guess you’re staying the night.” He descended the steps. “How’s it going, Ash?”
“I don’t believe you’ve met Jessica’s father.” Ashford lifted an arm, “Martin Mahoney,” before swinging the limb toward Hardy, “Aaron Hardy.”
The two men shook hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mahoney.”
“Actually,” Ashford interjected, “it’s Father Mahoney.”
Hardy slowly nodded at his friend. “I know. He’s Jessica’s father. You just mentioned that.”
“No, man,” Ashford smiled, “it’s Father Mahoney...as in...he’s a Catholic priest.”
“Oh.” Hardy ogled the elder man. A beat later, he arched his brows. “Oh...my apologies, Father.”
Mahoney waved a hand. “Don’t be. The Father Mahoney ritual gets old. Sometimes, it’s nice to be called Martin.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.” He shot a look at each houseguest. “Can I get either of you a drink?”
Ashford shook his head. “None for me. Thanks.”
“Since I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight,” Mahoney acknowledged Hardy, “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee—black with caffeine please...if you have it.”
Wagging a finger above his shoulder, “One coffee coming up,” Hardy strolled into the kitchen.
*******
Twenty minutes later
9:36 p.m.
“So, after getting that call from Jessica, I decided the house wasn’t safe.” Once Cruz had joined the men, Ashford had spent the next ten minutes going over everything that had happened. “Whoever was in the black SUV knew where we lived and—”
“And,” sitting on the couch, Cruz on his right, Hardy sipped his coffee, “at any time, they could make another run at your family.”