Trust Fall

by Alex Ander

  The couple smiled at the deputy marshal.

  Returning the gesture, while barely shaking her head at them, Devlin crossed the room.

  The home’s hosts backed away, giving her space to exit the room.

  Devlin embraced Cruz, “I can’t thank you enough,” before drawing Hardy in with her right arm for a three-way embrace, “for what you’ve done.”

  Holding a bloodstained white towel, Hardy gave the woman a one-armed hug.

  Cruz squeezed her friend and pulled away.

  Devlin kissed Hardy’s cheek before dividing her attention between him and his woman. “You saved my daughter, my family. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  Cruz smiled. “We’re just glad you’re all right, Jessica.”

  Hardy ran the towel over his face. “That goes double for me.”

  Devlin felt her pocket vibrating.

  Cruz glimpsed the blotched cloth in Hardy’s hands and eyed him. “Did you really have to use one of my brand new towels?”

  Devlin recognized the incoming phone number. Thorn.

  Hardy gave Cruz a wide grin, “I love you,” his voice rising on the last word.

  She shook her head. “You think that’s your get-out-of-trouble card for everything, don’t you?”

  Devlin smiled at the couple who pretended to be arguing. “For your hospitality...and defending my loved ones,” she touched Cruz’s arm, “I’ll buy you a whole new set, Raychel.” She turned around and took the call. “Talk to me, Marissa.”

  Hardy motioned toward the departing deputy marshal, a half grin coming back to his face. “See that? You’re getting new towels, and I’m out of the doghouse. Problem solved.”

  Cruz mimicked his expression, adding a headshake and a playful eye roll.

  “Where?” Devlin ran fingers through her hair. “I want in.” Listening to her boss, she whipped her head back and forth. “You know me, Marissa. I need to see this through...to the end.” Several seconds passed before she looked up at the ceiling, her eyes shifting to the left. “I’m thirty minutes away. Don’t let them breach without me.” She ended the call, jammed the cell into a front pants pocket, and whirled around.

  Ashford glimpsed Hardy and Cruz before squinting at his approaching woman. “I don’t think I’m going to like where this is heading, Jess.”

  Devlin squeezed his elbow. “They found the deputy director. A team is standing by...ready to storm the house.”

  “So let them. You just got back.” Ashford jabbed a thumb into his chest. “I just got you back.”

  She held his hand in both of hers and opened her mouth to speak; however, no words escaped. She clamped shut her jaw.

  Ashford gaped into her pleading eyes, eyes he wanted to get lost in before she fell asleep in his arms. “But that’s not in you, though, is it?”

  She gave him a fading smile.

  His chest swelled. Exhaling a loud rush of air, he jutted out his chin toward the door. “Go.”

  She kissed him before whispering in his ear. “I’ll be careful.” After acknowledging Hardy and Cruz, “Thank you both again,” she headed for the stairs.

  Ashford watched her descend the staircase. “You better be careful, woman. You promised me that skimpy, red, push-up number.”

  Cruz arched her brows.

  Hardy grinned at the big man.

  Ashford glimpsed the couple, but stopped short of cranking his head around to see his within earshot father-in-law. He faced Devlin.

  Bounding down the steps, seeing his cheeks reddening, she smiled at him.

  ‘S’ ‘H’ India Tango, he winced, I said that out loud.

  She blew him a kiss and hurried out of the house.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 30

  High Crimes

  Running down the driveway, Devlin spied Randall leaning against the front bumper of Thorn’s car. “Let’s go. There’s a team ready to take down Crane. They’re waiting on us.”

  Randall opened her door, rushed around the car, and climbed behind the wheel.

  She jumped into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and affixed her seat belt. “We’re a half hour away. Can you shave some time off that?”

  He brought the sedan’s engine to life, yanked the gearshift down, and made a ‘U-turn’ before stomping on the gas pedal. “We’ll be there in twenty.” Tires squawked, and the lightweight car accelerated.

  Once they were on the highway, he gave her a look. “I’m sorry I didn’t come inside back there.”

  She confronted him. “What do you mean?”

  “I figured you could use some alone time with your family.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t want to add one more person—a stranger at that—to the situation.”

  She faced forward. “Well, when this is finally over, I should introduce you to my family.”

  He nodded. “I’d like that.” The sedan overtook another car. “So where are we going?”

  *******

  twenty minutes later

  4:35 a.m.

  germantown, maryland

  The quiet subdivision on the north end of the city looked like any other: similar-in-style, two-story homes with small lots jammed together to make the real estate developer the most money. The dwellings were dark at this hour, except for a few outdoor security lights, most likely activated by a nocturnal creature.

  As Randall took the turn into the subdivision, Devlin touched her cell to her cheek. “We’re coming up on the scene.”

  Thorn: “I can’t wait any longer, Jessica. I just got word. Crane is leaving the house with a security detail. I’m giving the order for the assault team to move in.”

  Devlin glimpsed the driver. “Punch it. Crane’s on the move. Go, go go.”

  Randall’s foot went to the floorboard.

  She tossed the mobile and unhooked her seat belt.

  A quarter-mile later, Devlin spotted a black SUV, its headlights on, filling with passengers. Doors shut and the government ride sped down the slanted driveway.

  Devlin looked left.

  Parked across from the target home, two black SUV’s spewed eight tactical operators. The black-clad men, rifles at the ready, darted toward the escaping deputy director’s vehicle.

  Estimating the distance between the opposing forces, They’re too far away...he’ll get away, she chopped the air in front of her. “Keep going. Keep going. Cut off the SUV.”

  Randall swerved around a parked car, jerked the wheel back, and accelerated. A second later, his foot transitioned to the brake pedal and he spun the wheel to the left. The car’s front end dipped and veered before coming to rest in front of the advancing tactical team.

  Its front tires bouncing off the pavement where the driveway and the roadway met at sharp angles, the fleeing SUV screeched to a halt.

  Yanking on the handle, while drawing her 1911, Devlin kicked open the door and peeled out of the car.

  With weapon in hand, Randall was a couple seconds behind her.

  Her Colt pointed at the SUV’s left-front window, she shot glances at the armed men pouring around both sides of Thorn’s sedan; a few had their rifles aimed at her and her teammate. She held up the badge around her neck, “United States Deputy Marshal Jessica Devlin,” hoping the S.O.G. teams had been given her name.

  The rifles swung back toward the SUV.

  She let go of the badge and resumed a two-hand hold on her weapon. “Michael Crane, you’re under arrest. Step out of the vehicle with your hands up.”

  Two men exited the SUV, both aiming pistols at Devlin, Randall, and the assaulters.

  Eight men shouted. “Drop your weapons. Drop your weapons now.”

  Recognizing the men, fellow deputy marshals she had crossed paths with, Devlin closed the distance. “Tim...Harlan, don’t be stupid.”

  A flash of familiarity washed over the deputy marshals’ faces.

  “We have a warrant for Crane’s arrest.” She entered the tactical team’s line of
fire.

  Randall noticed the firing angles. She’s in the crossfire. “What are you doing?” He hurried toward her. “Get back here, Devlin.”

  Creeping forward, she stared at the two men, their guns pointed at her. “Stand down, gentlemen. You don’t want to go to jail for him...or worse.”

  After a few sideways glances, Crane’s detail lowered their guns.

  The left-rear door opened, and the deputy director emerged.

  His security detail holstered their Glocks and shuffled to the opposite side of the SUV, away from the men with rifles.

  His gun pointing at the concrete, Randall noted the muzzles of the men on either side of him. Their guns were aimed at Devlin’s back. She’s going to get herself killed.

  Devlin moved forward. “Michael Crane, you’re under arrest for high crimes against your country.”

  The man’s right hand disappeared behind his back.

  Heavily armed men: “Hands! Show me your hands.”

  Five feet behind her, entering the crossfire himself, Randall sidestepped left and raised his Glock toward Crane. “Damn it, Devlin. You’re going to get yourself shot. Back the hell up.”

  Oblivious to the tactical team’s excited calls for compliance, and her partner’s pleas, Devlin drew nearer to the suspect, her focus shifting from Crane’s eyes to his right hip.

  “Jessica.” Randall shot glances at the S.O.G. teams while flapping his left arm downward; however, the men kept their weapons up.

  Closing to within ten feet, she squinted at the man who had directed a hit squad to kill her in Mexico, had sent hooligans to kidnap her daughter, and had ordered another attack on her family not three hours ago. Please show me a gun, you piece of...

  Crane turned his head left and right and took in the scene. He looked over both shoulders before focusing on the woman a few feet away. He narrowed his eyes at her.

  Placing the 45 ACP’s front sight on his chin, she heard the tactical operators.

  “Show your hands. This is your last warning. Show your hands or we will open fire.”

  Devlin matched his hardened expression while gripping the Colt tighter. Her index finger edged closer to the trigger.

  Crane dipped his head and glared at her before his features softened and he brought forward his empty hand.

  She bobbed her head toward the four-by-four. “Hands on the vehicle and spread your feet...you should know the drill.”

  He did as instructed.

  Randall kept his gun trained on the man. “I’ve got him covered.”

  Devlin holstered the 1911, slapped cuffs on Crane’s wrists, and lifted the back of his jacket. She retrieved a handgun from the waistband of his pants, spun him around, and pushed him against the SUV. Holding the weapon higher, she eyed him. “Why didn’t you go for it?”

  He gave her a crooked smile. “Live to fight another day, Devlin.”

  “For you, that day will never come. Two of the men you sent,” she gestured toward Randall, “to kill us...are still alive. They’ve agreed to testify against you.”

  After shrugging a shoulder, he smirked at her. “I was following up on a lead,” he eyed Randall, “on a man accused of embezzlement charges. I believed him to be holding,” Crane poked his chin at Devlin, “one of my deputy marshals at gunpoint...at a home in the country.”

  She handed Crane’s pistol to a tactical officer. “And you think that’s going to save you from prison?”

  He offered another feeble shrug. “One never knows what strange turn of events lies around the next bend, Jessica. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  Devlin gripped his jacket’s lapels and shoved him toward the officer. “He’s all yours.”

  The agent took Crane into custody and ushered him away from the scene.

  The deputy director cranked his head toward Devlin. “I have many, many connections. I’m confident we’ll see each other again.”

  She spent the next minute gaping at the man until his head was pushed downward, and he disappeared into the backseat of a Chevrolet Suburban.

  “Care to tell me what that was all about?”

  She confronted Randall.

  He folded arms over his chest, looked down for a moment, and squinted at her. “Eight guns behind you...two more in front,” he thrust a finger at her, “and you in the middle.” He half pivoted his head toward the vehicle holding Crane while jutting out a thumb in the same direction. “If he,” Randall whipped his head back at her, “had drawn his gun...” his voice trailed off, as he waggled his head and did a one-eighty. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “We had an arrest to make. I was taking the lead.”

  He whirled back around and leveled a finger at her. “That’s bull—” he swore, “and you know it. All,” he spread an arm out in a wide arc, “of these heavily armed men around...and you had to be the one to arrest Crane?” He shook his head and turned around. “No. You had a personal vendetta to satisfy.”

  “All right,” her cheeks flushing, Devlin felt heat building behind her face and chest, “you want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking,” she lunged toward him, clutched his shoulder, and spun him back to face her, “that that’s the S.O.B. responsible for everything I’ve had to endure in the last two days. Everything that...” her voice going up several decibels, she rumpled Randall’s shirt with two fists and pulled him closer, “my family’s had to endure.”

  Their noses inches apart, they gaped into each other’s eyes. Both of them saw fire in the other’s soul, Randall noting a heavy dose of pain commingled with hers.

  “I’m sorry your loved ones were dragged into this,” he shook his head and broke her hold on his apparel, “but what you did was dangerous,” he twirled a finger in the air, “for everyone involved. Your recklessness just now could have gotten agents killed. You yourself could have—”

  “Like you did in Mexico?”

  Randall bristled and leaned away from his accuser.

  Staring down the length of her forefinger, Devlin watched the fight drain from his eyes. Inwardly, she groaned. What are you doing, Jessica?

  He squashed his lips together and looked away.

  She opened her fist, showing him a palm. “Look,” a deep breath escaped her lungs, “I...”

  “Good one. You got me there.” A strained moment passed. “I suppose that’ll,” he faltered, “always be hanging in the air between us, won’t it?” He bobbed his head. “So be it.” Randall turned his back on her. “Good bye, Jes—Deputy Marshal Devlin.”

  Her hand balling again, she winced at his departing figure before letting her arm fall. A moment later, her chin dropped to her chest. Her voice a whisper, she shut her eyes and pressed a flat hand to her forehead. “You screwed this one up, Jess.”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 31

  Hunting

  two days later...

  6 may—6:56 p.m.

  mount desert island, maine

  The last two days had seemed like a blur, albeit a good blur, a fun blur. Having forced her injurious words to Randall from her conscious mind, Devlin had taken a couple vacation days and spent the entire time with family. The best day had been yesterday. Although a little late, she had kept her promise to her daughter. Devlin, Ashford, and Cassandra had visited the park, eaten ice cream, and burned through the afternoon doing whatever the little girl had wanted to do. Early next morning, this morning, the phone call had come.

  Dressed up, her hair in a high ponytail and secured with a red ribbon, Devlin had been whisked away to Maine in a Gulfstream V jet. From there, a luxury car had taken her to a remote part of the state, all on the U.S. Government’s dime.

  As the Lincoln Town Car wound its way through a small forest, the three-story, ten-bedroom, colonial revival, red brick mansion came into view. Centered on a ten-acre estate on the southeastern edge of the largest island off the coast of Maine, and the second-largest island along the Eastern seaboard, the heavily woo
ded estate bordered Hunter’s Beach Cove—which led to the Atlantic Ocean—to the east, and Cooksey Drive to the west. The northern and southern borders of the property were Hunter’s Beach and Cooksey Drive Overlook, respectively.

  The Town Car stopped. The right-rear door opened a second later.

  Jessica Devlin stepped out of the vehicle and stood at the base of wide concrete steps that led to the mansion’s solid oak front door. She looked up and admired the ornately decorated, rounded portico and the four Roman columns supporting the portico. Two wide banks of double-hung windows, sporting dark-colored shutters, flanked the front door. Directly above the door was a wide, single-paned window book ended by another set of windows. Centered along the forward-slanting roof, three dormers jutted out above the single-paned window. Finally, two fireplace chimneys rose to the sky on the mansion’s left and right side.

  “Please follow me, ma’am.”

  Wearing a black knee-length overcoat, Devlin ascended the steps behind a black-suited, burly man with a buzz cut. A second, well-dressed man opened the home’s heavy wooden barrier. Burly led her to a dimly lit room with a low fire in a fireplace. She glanced around the space.

  Dark-colored, wide oak boards covered the nine-foot-high walls. Tall plants stood guard in the room’s four corners. Two straight-back chairs—a side table between them—rested in front of a heavy rug. A white marble mantle was anchored to the wall above the large stone fireplace. With an impressive rack, a massive elk head was mounted above the mantle. The room’s flickering light danced in the dead animal’s black eyes.

  “May I take your coat, ma’am?”

  She shed the outer garment, “Thank you,” revealing a red long-sleeved sweater dress that stopped where her three-inch, high-heeled black boots began, at her knees. She looked stunning in the combination of alternating colors—red ribbon holding raven black hair; red dress; black boots.

  Burly folded her clothing over a forearm, clasped hands in front of his body, and stood at the base of a winding staircase.

  Devlin bent over and warmed her hands by the fire before standing tall and gazing at the elk. Tipping her head to one side, she reached out and touched the tiny hairs on the creature’s chin.