by CW Browning
Damon grinned and grasped her hand, noting the half-empty wine glass in her other hand.
“Better than tomorrow, not as easy as yesterday,” he answered easily. “How are you, Agent Walker?”
“I've seen better days,” Stephanie said, sinking back into her chair. “I'm not going to ask you what brings you to town. I'll just call the local ME's and let them know to cancel any vacations they may have planned.”
Damon grinned and glanced at Alina. She was reclining in the other chair, a smile playing around her lips.
“That's not entirely unwarranted,” he murmured. “We don't have a very good track record around these parts, do we?”
“Not very, no,” she agreed cheerfully.
“Something tells me you don't have a very good track record anywhere you go,” Stephanie retorted.
“That depends on which side you're on,” Damon said with a wink. “You, Agent Walker, are more than safe.”
“Well, that's a comfort, at any rate.”
“Stephanie got some bad news today,” Alina told Damon, sipping her wine. “She needs all the comfort she can get right now.”
Damon raised a dark eyebrow and glanced at Alina.
“Why don't I like that look in your eyes?” he murmured, his blue eyes boring into hers. Alina's lips twitched and he turned his bright gaze to Stephanie. “What happened?”
“Does he know about John?” Stephanie asked Alina.
Alina shrugged, that faint smile still playing around her lips.
“You'll have to ask him,” she replied. “He didn't hear anything from me.”
“I know John was in an accident and the doctors don't expect him to make it,” Damon said, shooting Alina a shuttered look from under his lashes. “You must be very worried.”
“Do you know how he had the accident?” Stephanie demanded.
“I only know it was a car accident,” he answered. “He flipped and hit a tree.”
“If that's all you know, you're getting sloppy in your old age,” Viper murmured.
“Of course it's not all he knows,” Stephanie agreed, peering up at Damon. “He's trying to be all dark and mysterious. He probably knows the age and sex of the deer.”
“I'm sorry?” Damon exclaimed, startled despite himself. “When did wildlife come into this?”
“I do believe you've thrown him, Stephanie,” Alina announced, her eyes dancing. “He wasn't expecting sex and deer in the same sentence. I think I'll get him a beer. It's only fair to level the playing field.”
“We need another bottle too,” Stephanie said as Alina stood up and turned toward the sliding door. “I'm about to finish this one,” she added, making no move to get up and proceeding to empty the bottle into her wine glass.
Alina shook her head and slid open the door.
“What on earth have you got yourself into now?” Damon's voice was low and deep behind her ear as he followed her into the house. He slid the door closed behind him and watched as she strode into the kitchen. “Deer? He was street racing!”
“HA! I knew you knew more than you were saying. I'm not going to ask how you found that out,” Viper said over her shoulder, “but certain events are now making sense to me.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning who called you? Harry or Charlie?”
Viper swung around and faced him. Hawk's eyebrows soared into his forehead at the barely restrained fury in her dark brown eyes.
“Does it matter?” he asked softly, stopping near the bar at the look on her face and not venturing further into the kitchen.
“Actually, it does,” Viper replied. “I want to know which one to go visit.”
“Now Viper, that's a little extreme, don't you think?” Hawk asked, amused. “They're spies. They manipulate. It's what they do and you know that. What makes this time any different?”
Viper made a sound closely resembling a hiss and swung around to stalk to the stainless steel refrigerator.
“This time they're manipulating the closest thing I have left to family,” she muttered, opening the fridge and reaching into the back to grab a bottle of Yuengling. She turned back towards him, letting the door swing closed behind her. “Why did they send you here? And don't give me any nonsense about being here for me. We've played that game before.”
Hawk stared at her, his eyes narrowed and his face giving nothing away.
“What's going on?” he asked quietly.
“You tell me.”
They stared at each other in silence for a charged moment before he shrugged and moved forward to take the bottle of beer out of her hand.
“I will,” he promised softly, “just as soon as I know.”
He turned to move toward the sliding doors and Alina felt the tension suddenly flow out of her as her shoulders sagged slightly. The fact that Hawk knew exactly what happened to John told her he had the kind of information only Charlie would have. That man seemed to know everything even before it happened, but Hawk was right. Charlie and Harry were both old spies. They manipulated her and Hawk regularly as part of their job, and she never had a problem with it. Their job was to know more than their assets. This time, however, Viper was furiously positive that one of those old spies had Stephanie placed on administrative leave. Then, to add insult to injury, they sent Hawk to check up on her.
The only question was, why?
“So tell me about deer,” Damon said conversationally, settling into the cast iron chair he pulled over from the other end of the deck. The chair was one of a pair that matched a glass-topped round table. It was small and simple and his large frame made the chair look like something from Alice and Wonderland. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and looked at Stephanie expectantly. “I think that's where you left off.”
“John was street racing the other night and a deer ran into the road,” Stephanie answered, refilling her glass from the fresh bottle of wine Alina brought out. “He lost control of the Firebird.”
“And the deer?”
“I called the deer out of the road,” Alina told him, refilling her own glass. “It froze in the headlights and I called it back before it caused a big mess. As it turned out, it didn't make any difference, unfortunately. I saved the deer’s life, at any rate.”
Damon glanced at her, a strange glint in his eyes, his lips twitching.
“Of course you did,” he murmured.
“The weird thing is that I could have sworn John had the car under control,” Stephanie said suddenly, looking up. “At least, that's what it looked like from where I was standing. What do you think, Lina? You were closer than I was.”
Alina was silent for a moment, her mask firmly in place, unsure how much Stephanie should know.
“Lina?”
Viper looked up slowly and met Stephanie's questioning look. The look of expectant trust in her eyes was her undoing.
“He did,” she said quietly.
“How do you know?” Damon asked.
“Because I saw it.”
“It all happened so fast, though,” Stephanie muttered. “Hell, maybe he had it under control and then just lost it again.”
Alina's lips tightened imperceptibly, but she remained silent, uncomfortably aware of a pair of dark blue eyes watching her thoughtfully.
“Why was he street racing?” Damon asked after a moment of silence. “It seems like a juvenile thing to do when you're a Federal Agent.”
A short, choked laugh escaped Stephanie and Alina felt her own lips curving involuntarily.
“This is John we're talking about,” Stephanie reminded him, raising her glass to her lips.
“Good point,” Damon conceded with a quick grin. He sipped his beer quietly, his eyes going from one woman to another. After another moment of silence, he cleared his throat. “So are either of you going to tell me what's really going on, or will I have to find out myself?” he finally asked cheerfully.
Stephanie's gaze flew to his face and she had the grace to look a little sheepish.<
br />
“It's really none of your concern,” she said, trying to unsuccessfully to stare him down. “He's my partner, my responsibility.”
“Oh Steph, that won't work with him,” Alina murmured before sipping her wine and propping her feet up on the railing.
“Well, it's true,” Stephanie muttered, “but I guess I don't see what harm it would do to tell him.”
“You don't know him as well as I do,” Alina said under breath.
Damon shot her a look filled with laughter.
“That hurts,” he murmured.
“I’m assuming John was racing because he was running his own private investigation,” Stephanie said.
Damon raised an eyebrow and turned his attention back to her.
“Into what?”
“One of his oldest friends was killed earlier this week when a deer ran out in front of him while he was racing,” Stephanie explained. “John didn't think it was an accident.”
“Why?”
“Because Dutch was racing for pink slips and had his prize Mustang on the line,” Alina said, sipping her wine. She glanced at Hawk. “Someone was trying to buy it off him for months, but he wouldn't sell. It was his pride and joy, a '67 Shelby, beautifully restored.”
Damon let out a low whistle.
“Now I know why it got your attention. Did you see it?”
“John took me to a bonfire at Dutch's house the day I got back into town.”
“You went to a party?” Damon asked, diverted. “With people?”
Stephanie choked on her wine and Alina shrugged uncomfortably.
“I was bored,” she muttered.
“Don't go giving her too much credit,” Stephanie told him. “It was a party of gearheads. I would question whether or not they were really people, more like just lots of cars.”
“Ahh.” Damon winked at Alina. “You had me worried for a second. So, John's running theory was that his friend Dutch was coerced into betting his prize car, the race was rigged and someone killed him?”
“Something like that,” Stephanie said with a nod. “I thought it was all a bunch of baloney and it was just an accident.”
“What do you think?” Damon asked Alina.
She glanced at him, then at Stephanie. After a long, silent internal struggle, she sighed.
“Dutch was killed,” Viper told them, “and the same person tried to kill John the same way two nights ago.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Nothing with you is ever simple, is it?” Damon asked, raising his beer to his mouth.
“How do you know?” Stephanie demanded at the same time.
“Lani, Dutch's sister, told John that he was about to put a new addition onto the garage,” Alina explained reluctantly. “She got the impression he was making extra money on the side, but he never told her how. That's what made John suspicious.”
“When did you talk to him?” Stephanie asked, sitting forward in her chair. “You never told me this!”
“You never asked,” Alina retorted calmly. “John came to see me after Lani had a visit from Tito.”
“Why did he come to you?” Stephanie asked with a frown.
“He thought I would be able to relate to what she's going through,” Alina answered, her tone even and her face emotionless.
Stephanie caught her breath and shot her a sheepish look.
“Of course,” she murmured. “I'm sorry.”
“Who's Tito?” Damon interjected.
“Tito Morales,” Stephanie told him. “He's the one Dutch was racing when he was killed. He works for the guy who runs the raceway down in Atco.”
Damon glanced at Alina.
“And?”
“He threatened Lani, shook her up,” she told him. “John was worried he would go back and do worse. He said there was bad blood there. I got the impression John thought he was involved with Dutch's accident. I wasn't sold until I saw him watching from the trees when John had his 'accident.'”
“He was there?” Stephanie demanded. “Where? I didn't see anyone.”
“He didn't want to be seen.”
“That's where you went while we were trying to get John out of the car!” Stephanie exclaimed. “You were following him!”
“What did you find out?” Damon asked.
“He drives a black '67 Camaro with flaming skulls painted on the front,” Alina said with a shrug. “Kind of flamboyant, but beautifully restored, even if it does have a little too much chrome.”
“I meant when you caught up with him,” Damon said, amused.
“Wait! A Camaro with flames on it?” Stephanie interrupted. “The same one you almost killed me racing the other night?”
“I didn't almost kill you.”
“You were racing a Camaro?”
Alina and Damon spoke in unison and then grinned at each other.
“She was, and she did,” Stephanie told him, “on the AC Expressway.”
“I'm surprised you remembered the car,” Alina murmured, sipping her wine.
“Of course I remember it.”
“Do you ever plan on sharing what you found out from this guy when you followed him?” Damon interjected, trying to get back on course.
“Dutch was running something up and down the East coast for Dominic DiBarcoli, Tito's boss,” Alina told them. “They were going over the Shelby and the hidden compartment that obviously carried the item was empty. Dutch took whatever it was and they want it back.”
Stephanie stared at her, her wine forgotten.
“Blake asked me to look into some racers up here,” she said slowly. “He said something is being moved up and down the coast for the Cartel, but he didn't think the Cartel was doing the driving.”
“He was right,” Alina said simply.
“Oh my God, John said something was going on,” Stephanie breathed, sitting back. “I didn't believe him.”
“How big of an item are we talking about?” Damon asked.
“Not big. The compartment was about eight by six inches, and no more than three or four inches deep.”
“That's why they wanted the Shelby,” Stephanie said, realization dawning. “But why kill him?”
“He'd outlived his usefulness, and he knew something they didn't want anyone else to find out,” Alina answered. “Now, they're looking at Lani.”
“She's the next logical choice,” Damon murmured. “If Dutch was going to leave it with anyone, it would be his sister.”
“But why try to kill John?” Stephanie asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Maybe Tito got spooked. John was poking around and he's a Federal Agent.”
“Do we know what John found out before the accident?” Damon asked.
Alina shook her head.
“But how did they do it?” Stephanie asked, looking at Alina.
“They put an explosive in the wheel well.”
Stephanie stared at her.
“What?!”
“It would only have to be a small charge,” Damon said thoughtfully. “Just enough to blow out the tire. If the car was traveling over 100 miles an hour, that's all it would take.”
“Exactly.”
“Then all we have to do is get John's Firebird out of the scrap yard,” Stephanie exclaimed. “If they used an explosive, we can track it. We'll have to move fast. Once Rob launches his investigation, the FBI will pull the car.”
“What did I miss?” Damon asked. “Why is the FBI launching an investigation?”
“John's been suspended,” Stephanie told him. “The FBI is conducting an internal investigation.”
“Of course they are,” Damon muttered, glancing at Alina. “You really do have a knack for getting us embroiled in inter-agency politics, don't you?”
“Only when I come to Jersey,” she retorted.
“How do we know the FBI doesn't already have John's car?” Damon asked.
“The wheels of the agency move slowly,” Stephanie told him, “especially when it's one of our own. But that
doesn't mean we have all week. They'll pull the car in the next day or two.”
“I'll take care of the car,” Alina said. “Stephanie, you contact Blake and see what you can find out about the Cartel and the case he's working on.”
“You think this is all tied into the Casa Reino Cartel?” Damon asked, glancing at her.
“I'm not leaving anything to chance,” she answered. “Until John regains consciousness and can tell us what he knows, we have to assume whatever Tito and Dominic are running down the seaboard is big enough to interest the Cartel.”
“Blake sent me his file, but it's on my computer at work,” Stephanie said slowly. “I can't access it.” Damon and Alina looked at each other, then at Stephanie. “What?” she asked. “Why are you both smiling?”
“Give me an hour and I'll get you that file,” Viper told her.
“You know, I really don't think I like what you people do,” Stephanie informed them after a second of silence.
“That's just because you can't do it yourself,” Alina said cheerfully. “We're not bound by the same laws you are, thank God.”
“Those laws are there for a reason,” Stephanie muttered. “This isn't the Wild West. You can't just go around doing whatever you want.”
“Sure we can,” Damon answered with a wink. “It's what we get paid to do.”
Alina strode up the steps and across the deck to the sliding door. She drove Stephanie home, not trusting her to drive after drinking a bottle of wine, leaving Damon in her living room with his laptop. When she returned, his motorcycle was parked on the grass alongside the garage.
“Where'd you leave your bike?” she asked, stepping into the house and sliding the door closed behind her. “It wasn't there when I left.”
Hawk looked up from the recliner where he was stretched out with the laptop open on his lap.
“Just inside your perimeter,” he answered. “I went to get it after you left.”
“Why do you always come through the woods at the back of the property?” Alina asked, dropping her keys on the bar and reaching behind her to pull her .45 from her back holster.
“Habit,” he replied, watching as she set the gun on the bar next to her keys. “Is the Fearless Fed all tucked in safely?”