by CW Browning
Stephanie sipped her soda as she fished through the papers to find one with a series of X's on it. Those were the rest stops where Blake knew they handed product off. He posted people at them around the clock, but no one saw a thing.
“They don't know what they're looking for,” she murmured to herself.
Blake admitted as much in one of the reports. The agents posted at the rest stops focused their attention on all the fast sports cars that came through, but none of them seemed to be what they were looking for. According to the numerous agent statements, although there were several that fit the criteria, none of them were ever observed passing anything off to another vehicle. Most of them never stayed longer than to use the restrooms and get back on the road.
Stephanie dropped the paper back onto the table and set the soda down, staring at the opposite wall thoughtfully. John would have been the perfect person to ask about this. He knew the racing community well and was acquainted with the cars. He'd know exactly what to look for and who would be likely candidates. Unfortunately, the doctor wasn't happy with his numbers this afternoon and John was now heavily sedated. After staring at the wall deep in thought, Stephanie sighed and picked up her cell phone. There was one other person who might be able to offer some insight.
“Yes?” Alina answered the phone with her standard, one-word greeting.
“Hey,” Stephanie said, turning and going back into the kitchen. “You know that flash drive you gave me this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I just finished going through all the information,” she said, cradling her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she ripped open the pizza box. “It took me all afternoon. He's managed to compile a ton of stuff. The network runs from Miami all the way up to Boston. It may even go all the way to Canada. It's pretty ballsy, even by Cartel standards.”
“Anything I should know about?”
Stephanie pulled the pizza out of the box and reached for a pair of kitchen shears.
“Probably most of it,” she admitted, cutting the plastic surrounding her dinner, “but I'll just give you the highlights. Definitely high speed, precision drivers. They use night-vision goggles and drive without headlights, if you can believe that. I've got locations on all the rest stops that are believed hand-off points, but they haven't been able to catch any of them.”
“They're not trying hard enough,” Alina murmured dryly.
Stephanie set the scissors down and pulled the plastic off the pizza.
“They have to work within the confines of a little thing we have here in America called the law,” she retorted without heat. “It complicates things.”
That earned her a chuckle from the phone.
“What else did you find out?” Alina asked.
“Atlantic City is definitely one of the origination points, which makes sense for Dutch and Tito running the product. It's close enough for them to drop and pickup,” Stephanie said. “Washington DC and Boston are also hubs. Blake thinks each of them have a different person running the drivers, but they both report to one man.”
“Dominic,” Alina stated rather than asked.
“Bingo.” Stephanie slid the pizza onto a metal pizza tray and opened the oven door. “Blake doesn't know his name, but I think it's safe to say that it's Dominic.”
“Have you told Blake this yet?”
“No.”
“Don't,” Alina advised. “Not yet. Let me find a connection first.”
“Lina, I can't just sit on information that might help him with his investigation,” Stephanie protested. “I'd be furious if he did it to me.”
“Just humor me,” Alina replied, unfazed. “Let me find the connection and you guys won't lose him in the system due to circumstantial evidence. That's one of the terms from that law you think so highly of, right?”
“Smart ass,” Stephanie muttered, slamming the oven door closed. “I'll hold off as long as I feel comfortable.”
“Good. Did the wealth of information he sent have the routes the drivers take between Miami and Boston?”
“Yes.”
“I'd like to see them,” Alina told her. “Can you email them to me?”
“You didn't make a copy for yourself?” Stephanie asked sarcastically, going back into the dining room.
“I'm not a spy.”
“Sorry,” Stephanie apologized, feeling chastised. “I'll send you the routes and the rest stops. The more eyes looking at this the better at this point. I do have one question for you, though.”
“What?”
“Blake's team and the DEA are having trouble identifying the cars. They don't really know what to look for, obviously. I'm sure they wouldn't have looked twice at a '67 Mustang.”
“And?” Alina prompted when Stephanie didn't continue.
“Well, the only other person I know who's familiar with the racing scene is John, and they have him sedated,” Stephanie finally said. “I was wondering if maybe you could talk to Dutch's sister Lani.”
There was a slight pause.
“Lani's gone to stay out of state,” Alina finally said. “I saw most of the racing scene at Dutch's bonfire, and again at his funeral. I'll put together a list of cars for you to pass on to Blake.”
“That would be wonderful,” Stephanie exclaimed.
There was another pause, then a very faint sigh.
“Why do they have John sedated?”
“The doctor didn't like his numbers this afternoon,” Stephanie answered. “He seemed agitated, so they sedated him enough to make him sleep.”
“Keep me updated,” Alina said, after another pause. “I have to go. Thanks for the information on Boston and DC.”
Hawk looked up from the shadows of the deck as the faint, muffled sound of music filtered through the quiet trees from a distance. He frowned, watching as Raven straightened up from his watchful position at the far end of the banister. He shook his head and fluffed his wings, turning his head alertly toward the sound. With a whoosh, he launched off the railing and glided up into the air, arching in a curve before coming to rest on top of the garage, his face turned toward the road at the front of the house. The music was getting louder, dispersing the silence, and Hawk crooked an eyebrow as a very familiar guitar rift sliced through the distance. He stood and stretched, yawning widely, as tires met the gravel of the circular driveway in the front. The music was very loud now and his lips curved as he moved to the steps of the deck, leaning a hip against the railing and crossing his arms across his chest. When the black Rubicon pulled up beside his motorcycle, he was surprised to see the front freedom panels missing. While it certainly wasn't winter anymore, there was a distinct bite in the air. The engine stopped and, with it, the blaring music. Viper climbed out with a black baseball cap on her head and a windbreaker zipped up against the chill.
“Master of Puppets?” he called. “Really?”
“What? You don't like Metallica?” she retorted, starting across the grass towards him.
Hawk watched her, noting her controlled stride and squared shoulders. She was dressed in her habitual black, but he glimpsed a flash of red peeking out from the hem of the windbreaker. As Viper approached the deck, the cap on her head cast her face in shadows, but he didn't need to see it to know something was bothering her. Every muscle in her body was tense.
“I didn't say that,” he murmured as she came up the steps. “I was just surprised to hear it. You strike me as more of a Led Zepplin kind of girl.”
A rueful chuckle escaped her as she joined him on the deck.
“I've been known to get the Led out on occasion,” she admitted. “Today wasn't one of those days.”
Hawk turned to follow her to the sliding doors, glancing over his shoulder at Raven, watching from atop the garage. He swept his eyes once around the lawn and surrounding trees before following her into the house, sliding the door closed behind him.
“I'll be right back,” Alina said over her shoulder, heading down the hall toward the stai
rs in the front of the house.
She disappeared around the corner and up the stairs without further explanation and Hawk frowned again. She hadn't removed the gun he knew was tucked into her back holster, as was her wont when she came into the house. She also hadn't removed her jacket.
He went into the kitchen, flipping on the light, and opened the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. His gaze fell on the bottles of Yuengling next to the water and he changed his mind, reaching for two of those instead. If it had been a Metallica kind of day, Viper would probably appreciate the beer.
He turned from the fridge and popped the tops off both bottles, setting one on the granite top of the bar before circling to sit on a stool, sipping the other. Now that he considered it, his day hadn't been exactly stellar. Charlie had a way of changing the play just when Hawk thought he was ready for the snap. It had always been that way, and he supposed it always would. He stared down at the bottle neck thoughtfully, wondering if it was Charlie who managed to ruin Vipers day as well.
“I was wondering which one you would go for,” Viper murmured from the hallway and he turned to look at her, his face softening slightly.
She had unzipped the jacket and Damon saw the flash of red belonged to a tank top, stretched taut across her torso. The baseball cap was in her hand and her hair was loose around her shoulders in a thick wave. Damon felt sucker-punched at the sight of her and he drew in his breath silently. He was so used to seeing her with her hair back and in swat-type clothing that he was taken aback with her fitted black jeans and loose hair.
“Thanks,” Alina said, moving across to the bar and picking up the other bottle. “I need this.”
She moved to the stool next to him and Hawk noted that she still hadn't removed her gun.
“Do you want to go first?” he asked, glancing at her. “Or shall I?”
Alina chuckled and took a long sip of beer.
“Did Charlie contact you?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes.”
They fell silent and Damon felt a kind of satisfaction in knowing he wasn't the only one to have his plans thrown off by their boss.
“OK, you first,” Alina finally said, setting the bottle down and looking at him. “What did you find out about Sgt Curtis?”
“Nothing good,” Damon answered. “He deserted in Afghanistan, walking off base. The rescue mission launched to get him out of the hands of the Taliban was a complete failure. Twenty-four were killed in the ambush, an even mix of SEALs, Rangers, Marines and Airmen. Four more were taken prisoner, two of whom escaped. The other two were killed.” He glanced at her. “Your gunny was one of the two that escaped.”
Viper's eyebrows soared into her forehead.
“No wonder he's so pissed. And the other one?”
“Special Agent Blake Hanover.”
“Holy hell,” she muttered. “Small world.”
“Too small,” Damon agreed. “Curtis spent the last five years as a prisoner, and I use the term loosely. I have satellite footage of him wandering free through the camp with an automatic slung across his back.”
“And now he gets traded for three of their officers,” Viper murmured. “Unbelievable.”
“Oh, it gets better,” Damon said grimly. “His father is a known felon, in and out of prison for the past thirty-odd years. During his last stint inside, he converted to Islam. He has a watch tag on him because of his participation in online chat rooms known to be recruiting grounds for extremists.”
Vipers lips tightened and Hawk sipped his beer, watching her from out of the corner of his eye. He got the impression she wasn't surprised by any of this; almost that she had been expecting it.
“What were you doing down the shore?” she asked suddenly, turning those dark, bottomless eyes to his.
“Playing with the seagulls,” he replied, his lips twitching. Their eyes met and a laugh lit up the back of hers. “Your turn,” he said, turning to face her. “What happened to upset your wagon?”
Alina raised her eyebrows at his metaphor but let it pass unchallenged.
“I feel like I've been all over New Jersey,” she said, rolling her head to loosen her neck. “When I got to Lani's, the place was trashed and she was gone. Luckily, I had the GPS chip from Dutch's Shelby, so I was able to follow his path after he got the trigger. When I got there, Lani was already there.”
“Where was it?”
“Up in the Brick area, near Seaside Heights,” Alina answered, sipping her beer.
“Did you get the trigger?” Damon asked.
“Yes.” She finished her beer and got up, taking his empty bottle out of his hand. “I sent Lani away. She's safe, for now. She's gone to an aunt out of state.”
Damon watched Alina as she circled the bar and set the empty bottles in the sink. Turning, she leaned back against the counter, her face pensive. His eyes narrowed as he watched her. Her mask was in place and the only indication something was bothering her were her lips pressed together firmly.
“You still haven't answered my question,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
Her eyes lifted to his and she studied him silently for a long moment. Hawk held her gaze, knowing that she needed something from him, but not having the faintest clue what it was. Her next words were the last thing he expected to hear.
“Do you ever wonder what the point is to it all?” she asked softly.
Hawk stared at her, speechless. Her mask was gone, lifted with that one question, and he found himself suddenly staring at his Jersey Girl. Her eyes were filled with an emotion akin to sorrow and her lips were pursed pensively.
“To what we do?” he asked carefully, wanting to understand what she was asking. “Or to why we do it?”
“Both. We give up so much of ourselves, our very souls, only to turn around and face more enemies. The more we take out, the more take their place. Our government seems to be intent on making deals with them, and they let them come into the country freely. The general public have no idea we exist, or how many times we've prevented hundreds of them from getting blown to pieces. And the people we used to love...”
Here her voice cut off and Hawk watched her mask slide back into place. The Jersey Girl was gone just as swiftly as she made an appearance.
“You already know the answer to all of that,” he told her, watching her closely. “What's happened to make you second guess what we do?”
Alina straightened up impatiently. They stared at each other in charged silence for a long moment before she suddenly moved forward.
“Come on,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand. “I want to take you somewhere.”
Hawk's eyebrows soared into his forehead but he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Alina picked up the baseball cap from where she had tossed it on the bar and pulled it back onto her head, tucking her loose hair through the loop at the back. She pulled her keys from her jacket pocket and zipped it up, covering the sexy red tank top.
“Should I be worried?” Hawk murmured, following her out of the house and onto the deck.
She tossed an amused look over her shoulder.
“With me? You should always be worried.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alina pulled to a stop and cut the engine, killing the lights. Hawk stared out at the dark and silent lake before them. The moonlight glinted off rippling water and a slight breeze came off the surface and into the open Jeep, ruffling his hair. He glanced at Alina to find her looking at him, a faint smile on her lips. She pulled off the baseball cap and dropped it onto the shifter before reaching for the door handle.
“Come on,” she said.
Damon got out of the Jeep, looking around as he closed the door. They were parked on a grassy verge along the bank of the lake, only feet from the edge. They had come upon the lake through the trees, following a trail that was already partially covered with fresh, green foliage coming back from the winter. The air was crisp and cold, the night quiet.
“Where are
we?” he asked, joining her in front of the Jeep and resisting the urge to whisper. There was no one around for miles and no need for quiet, but he was somehow loathe to break the perfect silence.
“In the Pine Barrens,” came the cryptic answer. “Suffice it to say, we're in the middle of nowhere.”
Alina turned and began walking away from the Jeep, along the lakeside. Damon fell into step beside her and they walked in silence for a few moments, enjoying the breeze off the water and perfect moonlight. His hand touched hers and a sharp thrill went through him when she slid her fingers between his.
“We used to come here a lot,” she said quietly. He glanced down at her, waiting. “Me and Dave at first, then John and Dave's girlfriend later.”
Hawk was silent. She never talked about her dead brother and he wasn't about to stop her now.
“Dave found it when he was sixteen, off-roading with his friends,” Alina continued after a moment. “In the summer, we'd come fishing on the weekends. Well, he'd fish.”
“And what did you do?” Damon asked.
“Usually sat under a tree reading,” came the surprising answer.
“What did you read?” he couldn't stop himself from asking, fascinated by a young Alina who read while her brother fished.
“All kinds of things,” Alina answered with a slight laugh. “Dave made fun of me sometimes. One week I'd be reading Dean Koontz and the next I was reading Plato. Robert Ludlum was a big favorite.”
Damon remembered the stack of spy novels he glimpsed on her bedside table last Spring and a smile creased his lips.
“Horror and espionage I get,” he murmured, “but you're throwing me with the philosophy. Plato?”