Cold Light of Day (31 page)

Scarlett backed up three steps and hit Matt in full retreat.

Regan’s grin flashed.
Oh, he was definitely enjoying his revenge.

“Trust me,” Matt said. “I checked her for bugs.”

“
All
over?”

“All over.” He put his hand on Scarlett’s shoulder and squeezed.

Her cheeks went bright enough to match her name. She straightened away from him, going all prim and proper. “I can wait in the car if that makes you all feel safer.”

“No.” He and Regan said together, probably for different reasons.

Scarlett held out her hand for the bug. “I’ll leave it in my jacket in the car.” Regan reluctantly handed it back.

Matt held the door wide while she ran back and put her jacket in the car. The yoga pants molded her skin and left nothing to the imagination.

Regan watched her move. “Nice ass.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh, you’re going to want to.” The man grinned unrepentantly. He passed Matt a paper towel to mop up the blood on his face.

Scarlett came back looking at them both warily. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Regan led them through to another room at the back just as two other men walked in the door. “What’s up, boss?” Both sets of eyes went to Scarlett and though it took a moment to get past the hat and the vest, all four pupils flared as they recognized her.

She shook her head.

“We need surveillance on the Capitol Building steps, ASAP,” Regan told them.

Matt checked his watch. “Meet is set for seven AM.”

Everyone started bitching and complaining. “Enough.” Regan said. “White van’s already loaded. Grab your weapons and vests and let’s move it. We’ll discuss on the way. Complete radio silence on this one. Let’s go.”

“We’ll follow in Frazer’s car. He’s meeting us there,” Matt told him.

Scarlett started shivering and the look Regan gave her was not unkind. “Park behind the American Indian Museum on Maryland. Keep out of sight of the Capitol Building.”

“Roger that.” Matt nodded, took Scarlett’s hand as they strode out of there. They had to move fast, and he wanted to check the location of all players. See if Rooney had eyes on Branson yet. End this thing.

R
aminski lowered his
FBI ball cap as he was led to the top of the NAG’s East Building by a security guard who talked constantly and kept stopping to catch his breath and hitch up his pants.

Raminski wore shades, a windbreaker with FBI on the back, black shirt, black boots. He kept his mouth firmly shut. The guard led him where he needed to go, exactly as the FBI agent had promised. Up the stairs into a tower that was empty of artwork, then unlocking a secure door onto the roof.

“This is it.” The guard turned and looked at him. Excitement lit his eyes then dimmed when Raminski didn’t respond. “I, er, guess I better get back to my post,” the man said nervously.

Raminski gave him a curt nod and waited for him to leave. Then he walked out onto the modern-looking structure, all sharp lines and acute angles, grateful it was still dark. He stared at the Capitol Building approximately fifteen hundred feet away. The breeze was a light, four knots, coming from the north. He laid out flat on the concrete and lined up the shot. It was a tough one. Not the distance so much as the swaying tree branches that might deflect a bullet. He stood and shifted position. Found a better angle. He checked his watch and prepared to wait.

*     *     *

The surveillance van
was cold with the engine off. They were parked up snug beside the American Indian Museum with a clear view of the Capitol Building through the windshield. Scarlett shivered despite her layers, watching the laptop screen which sat on her lap. She’d put the battery back in her phone because they wanted Dorokhov to believe she was genuinely going to show up and knew the Russians were tracking the signal.

They’d followed the van as it had sped most of the way here using red lights and sirens, turning them off just as they hit the 14th Street Bridge. In less than five minutes, Jon Regan’s team had seamlessly planted listening devices under some of the benches and on lampposts at the bottom of the steps of the Capitol Building. Parabolic microphones were aimed in that direction, as were video cameras.

The scene itself was utterly transfixing. Deep navy sky, cold, white spotlights making the dome of the Capitol Building shine. A Christmas tree glittered on the grass below the steps, all beautifully rendered in the reflecting pool. As iconic images of America went, it was pretty soul inspiring.

There was a homeless guy asleep beneath a bench on the south side, but apart from that the streets were empty. The Mall quiet. In most homes across the country children were getting up, eager to see what Santa had brought them. Scarlett had been eleven the last time she’d done that. She’d been a late developer, happy to cling to the fantasy until her bubble had been shattered with nuclear force, and her father had been taken from her.

It had been the end of childish dreams. The end of stupid make-believe. The beginning of cold, hard reality.

Even now her dad might die. The spy might not be revealed and Matt might be pretending to care about her just because of the case.

Ten to seven.

Jon Regan looked at her. “Ready?”

“She’s not actually meeting Dorokhov.” Matt stood.

“Then what the hell are we doing here?” Regan sounded pissed and confused.

“Watching. Waiting. It’s a ruse.”

Regan’s eyes narrowed. Mouth tightened.

Scarlett’s burner cell buzzed insistently in her pocket. It was set to silent.

It was Rooney on the line. “Branson hasn’t moved, but a light just came on in the bedroom window. Car’s here. Phone is here.” But he might not be. They both knew it. “Clarkson is in his office at the Washington Field Office and Weber is at Quantico.”

“Does no one in the FBI have a life outside work?” she asked. Her father had. Until it had been stolen from him.

“Apparently not,” said Rooney ruefully. “Parker has gone to see if he can verify Branson is in the building, hopefully without getting shot or arrested.” She hung up.

Matt’s cell vibrated in his pocket. Scarlett watched him. His eyes went wide as he checked the screen, then he swore and dialed another number on his other phone. Opening the rear door of the surveillance van, he stepped out into the freezing cold air. He paced restlessly, back and forth, out of sight of the Capitol Building. Patience wasn’t his strong suit. He was speaking quietly but urgently into his cell. Scarlett followed him outside, desperate for fresh air.

He covered the receiver and spoke to both her and Jon Regan who’d followed them out. “Just got a photograph of my mother sent to my email, telling me to back off.”

Oh, God.
She’d never imagined they’d go after a comatose woman to get what they wanted. “Is she all right?”

“I’m having them check at the nursing home right now. Then I’ll get security on it.” His knuckles were white. He put the cell back to his ear and paced. Every muscle tense. She knew he wanted to race over there and protect his mother. She was forcing him to stay here.

For the thousandth time she wished she’d gone about this differently, not involving anyone else. But after all these years, Dorokhov and the spy had both disguised their tracks so well she’d never have uncovered the truth alone. Someone was always going to get hurt, but Scarlett would rather it be her than an innocent bystander.

Her cell rang again. She assumed it was Rooney with another update. When she pulled the vibrating cell out of her pocket, she realized it was her personal phone not the burner. She didn’t recognize the number. Matt wasn’t paying attention, he was trying to make sure his mother was safe. An image was downloading. For some reason she was expecting the same picture Matt had just received. Instead, a blurred image of a young woman curled up in the trunk of a car appeared. Blonde hair was visible despite the blindfold. She zoomed in on the screen and her heart raced beneath her bulletproof vest. It was Angel.
Jesus
. Scarlett looked at the newspaper that was placed beside Angel’s head as some sort of proof of life. She couldn’t see the date, but she sure as hell could see the photograph of the blast scene at Quantico Harbor.

She frowned. That wasn’t possible. Angel had been released the night of the party, before the explosion… Had she been taken again?
No
. No way would the FBI security detail have allowed a congressman’s daughter to be kidnapped twice. She froze and stared at Matt’s back. Shock blasted through her body. He’d lied. Of course he’d lied. He’d told her what she wanted to hear to gain her cooperation.
Oh my God
.

She felt cold. Detached. She understood why he’d lied to her. Why they’d all lied to her. She wasn’t a team member. She was an outsider. She got it. She was used to it even. But the betrayal felt like a sharp knife in her back.

Matt caught her gaze. She smiled, hiding the bile that had crawled up her throat, waited until he turned to do another lap of pacing. As soon as he did, she slipped quietly around the van, out onto the path that led to the Capitol Building. Then she started to run, because the man who held her best friend captive was coming here in just a few minutes, and if she begged him, on her knees, maybe he’d let Angel go.

*     *     *

Goddamn it. Matt
couldn’t believe he hadn’t foreseen this. Threats and manipulation were standard fare in these sorts of cases, and he didn’t intimidate easily. But if anything happened to his mother he’d never forgive himself. His heart was pounding. The timing was crazy. Dorokhov was due to arrive any moment. He doubted it was a coincidence.

Finally the nurse on duty got to his mom’s room. He could hear her breathing hard, as if she’d been running. “She’s here. She’s fine.
Hallelujah
.” She sent him a photo of his mother sleeping undisturbed in her bed. Thank God.

“I still want you to call the cops. I received an unauthorized photograph of her with a very definite threat to her life—” He turned around. Scarlett wasn’t there. He assumed she was in the van “—from that location.” He walked over to the van and came face-to-face with Regan, who had an odd expression on his face. He looked past the man. No Scarlett. What the hell? Then he spotted her running up the path to the Capitol Building. Oh, shit. He snapped the phone shut and started to run, found himself slammed to the ground, arms pitched high behind his back.

“Use your head, fool. If Dorokhov spots you, he’ll bail and this won’t mean shit.” Regan was hurting the crap out of his arms, hissing in his ear. Then Matt realized that was because he was still fighting the man and forced himself to relax. “Let her talk to him. We’ve got eyes and ears on them both. There are five FBI agents within a thousand feet. She’s a smart woman. She isn’t going to do anything stupid.”

Matt gave him an
are-you-fricking-kidding-me?
look.

“Think with your head, Lazlo,
this
is exactly what Frazer wanted to happen and you know it. That crafty sonofabitch is probably the one who called her out there.”

“I want to know who made that call.” Matt drew in a deep breath. Not that easy when he was flattened by two-hundred and twenty pounds of muscle. “And get the fuck off me.”

“Promise you’re going to get in the van and behave yourself?”

“Yes, sir.” Matt was feeling lethal on the inside, but not at Regan. He needed to talk to Parker, needed to know about the call that had made Scarlett race away. If it was Frazer he was going to punch the guy out for manipulating him, boss or not.

He also needed to check where all the players were. The plan hadn’t changed. Scarlett should be relatively safe since Dorokhov had to maintain some sense of decorum given the location. He was on camera from twenty different angles regardless of FBI surveillance, and surely he knew that.

Regan let Matt up. He brushed the icy dew off his pants and Regan indicated Matt go ahead of him into the van. On the surveillance monitors Matt watched Scarlett hurry down the path. He was going to tan her ass when he got hold of her, assuming he didn’t choke to death on fear first.

He dialed Parker, simultaneously checking the laptop screen for the locations of their suspects and watching Scarlett.

No one had moved. Why the heck did he feel like all hell was about to break loose? He scanned everything frantically, searching for answers. Then a large, black limousine, bearing the white, blue, and red striped flags of the Russian Federation, cruised up Pennsylvania Avenue.

Parker finally answered the damn phone. “Branson is in his kitchen along with his wife, stuffing the turkey—that’s not a euphemism.”

“Scarlett just got a call on her cell. Who was it?”

Matt heard Parker tapping few keys. “Came from a burner. An image was sent from DC, and…ah, shit. We’re busted. It’s a photograph of Angel in the trunk of a car with today’s newspaper.”

Shit.

“Dorokhov is here,” Matt told the other man.

“Branson didn’t personally send that image. I was watching him at that exact time. But we were working on the assumption the Russians had Angel LeMay. Do we sit on him or come to you?”