Reckless Endangerment (35 page)

Devon stopped in her tracks and stared at her with an open mouth.  “Don’t you dare say that.  You?  Quit on a story when we’re this close?  If nothing else, I’d think you’d be out for vengeance now that they’ve made this personal.”

“I don’t mean it.”  She exhaled slowly.  “I’d rather be home with Michael, that’s all. I really suck at this family thing.”

“No, you don’t.”  Devon held the door open for the diner.  “You just do it your own way, nothing wrong with that.  I still can’t believe Ms. Anti-Authority married a Marine.”

“Me either.”  She sat on a ripped stool and ordered a coffee.  “I don’t think she’s going to show.”

“I do.”  Rat-a-tat-tat went Devon’s nails against the scraped counter top.  The only two white women in the diner, they weren’t exactly blending and knew it. “We should have stayed in the car.”

“Nope, I want everyone to know that we were here...having coffee...hanging out...not backing down.” She let her gaze roam around the room, made eye contact with a few locals who seemed uncomfortable with their presence.

“Sending a message?”

“Exactly, just like at the strip club only a bit more subtle.” She sipped the coffee, back to the counter and eyes on the door.  “Byron Gannon...of Gannon Construction.” She slid her gaze to her friend’s.  “Coincidence?”

“No such thing.”  Devon sipped the coffee before reaching for her cell phone when it vibrated.  “It’s Angel.  She’s giving us an address to meet her there.  Change of plans, I guess. She must be getting nervous.”

“Must be,” she muttered before asking the waitress for to-go cups for the coffee. 

Something seemed off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  Then again, this entire week had been bizarre. 

They walked toward her car in unison, both lost in thought.  She met Wulf’s gaze from where he’d parked several cars behind them on the opposite side of the street and, for the first time, didn’t mind being followed by someone with a gun. 

“Forward the text to Wulf,” she said as she settled behind the wheel.  “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“If these people get wind of cops, we’re done.” Devon twisted in her seat and faced her.  “I know these people are dangerous--I witnessed the van explosion and Becky’s not-exactly-an-accident--but the FBI isn’t exactly subtle.  A few days ago you wanted to shake them...now you’re playing nice with them?  You’re losing your edge...and that makes me nervous as hell.”

She gripped the steering wheel.  “When has Angel ever texted us to meet at a different location last minute?  Never.  She’s careful.  We videotaped a lot the other day so even this last minute meeting smells rotten to me.”

Quiet, Devon stared at her for a minute before sending the text to the agents following them.  “Why are we here then if you don’t think it’s legit?  To see what would happen?  Like a test?”

She shrugged off the sensation that the bottom was falling out of their little scheme.  She swallowed the bile in her throat.  “We need the missing link.  We’re close.  Maybe this is it.” 

Devon twisted in her seat to verify that the feds followed at a reasonable distance.  “What’s your plan?  I know you have one...you do have one, don’t you?”

With one hand, she reached inside her bag for her worn hat and shoved it on her head.  “We go in as planned.  We’ll have the hidden cameras on us.  Wulf won’t let us out of his sight, I’m sure of it.  We’re aware, that’s our advantage.  They won’t take us by surprise.”

Devon nodded, all the while busying herself with the tiny cameras they’d attach to the lining of their coats.  “I’m with you one hundred percent, Hope. Don’t ever doubt it. I know exactly what I’m getting into. We’re partners in this, no matter what happens.  You’re not dragging me anywhere...I need to make that clear.”

“Thanks for saying that, Dev.”  She parked in front of the address and forced herself not to think about Michael, Becky, the nephews, Dalton or anyone she loved.  Now was not the time for emotion.  Now was the time for action.  “I needed to hear it.”

“I know you did.”  Devon shot her a quick smile.  “You’re way too hard on yourself.  We’re going to be okay.  You survived the Taliban, I’m sure you’ll survive some punk human traffickers.”

“Yeah, well, I survived the Taliban because I had the backing of the United States Marine Corps.”  She glanced in her rearview mirror to the sedan that rounded the corner.  “Wulf isn’t quite the same thing.”

“No, I guess he’s not,” Devon agreed with a nod toward the house.  “All the lights are on.  Is that a good or bad thing?”

Located in the industrial section north of Denver, rows of houses that all resembled rotting milk cartons lined the street.  Chain link fences surrounded each one, some caving in from neglect others with gaping holes from God only knew what.  Dogs barked and yipped in the night.  Muted music blared from down the road.  The air stunk like garbage and gas fumes. 

With a nod, they exited the car with their cameras hidden in the collars of their coats and feeding to a laptop hidden beneath the passenger seat.  She locked the car, looked behind her toward the sedan and walked toward the house all lit up for them.

“She’s never once wanted to meet at a house,” she said.  “She’s skittish...always wanted to be in a busy place, blend with a crowd.”

“Except for the other day when she came to your house.” 

“And now this...” She knocked on the door and then quickly stepped to the side in case someone decided to shoot through the door.  Maybe living in a war zone all those years had taught her some invaluable skills after all. 

Another knock on the door.  Silence. 

“Do we go in?” Devon asked.

She stepped back onto the lawn and double-checked the address.  With a sinking heart, she feared she knew what she’d find inside and it wasn’t an eager source.  Not alive anyway. 

“Not this time,” she said as she grabbed her cell phone and called Special Agent Wulf.  Maybe she was being too cautious and was about to blow a story.  So be it.  She’d seen enough death.  “This is a set up,” she said to Wulf when he answered.  “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m right behind you.” Wulf appeared from the shadows, FBI vest on and gun in hand.  Nothing subtle about that.  “Knock on the door again, Shane.  We’ve got your back.”

She shook her head at his vest and met Devon’s gaze.  This wasn’t going well at all. 

“You shouldn’t have let them in on this,” Devon whispered with accusation in her eyes.  “You’re losing your edge.”

She ignored her friend and walked back to the front door.  This time she knocked quickly before testing the knob.  Unlocked.  Steeling herself for the worst, she opened the door and called out for Angel. 

No answer.  Every piece of furniture had been overturned.  Loud salsa music played from a back room.  She stepped into the living room, senses on high alert for an ambush. 

What she saw was her source—Angel, a woman who’d escaped one country to go to another in hopes of a better life only to be forced into sex slavery—lying naked in a pool of blood.  Beaten.  Tongue and eyes cut out.  Cell phone lying next to her.

“Bastards,” she said as she kicked the cell phone out of the blood and read the unsent text to Devon’s number that read simply...
you’re next.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Despite Dalton’s begging to stay in his new room overnight, he’d sent him back to the hotel with Gwen and Miles.  It was best for them all.  It’d been a long day--an endless one.  Marshall and McGee lounged on the sofa, eating the last of a cold pizza and watching a hockey game. 

He stared at McGee’s profile, Hope’s suspicions whispering through his mind.  He’d been McGee’s commanding officer, thought of him as a close friend. Could it be possible that he’d betrayed them?

“You never said what’s keeping you in Denver these days, McGee.  I’m sure you’re not just hanging around to babysit me.  Don’t you have a job? I’m surprised you didn’t stick with the unit.”  He stared at his friend, the only thought being that someone had told Gannon about the marriage.  Only McGee lived to tell that tale before this week. 

McGee raised a beer to his lips and shrugged his massive shoulders.  “I’ve got the job driving to and from San Diego, told the boss I needed to hang out here for awhile.  It’s not a problem.  I’m sure I owe you.”

He drank coffee rather than beer, wanting to be awake when Hope returned.  Knowing how dangerous these people were and the lengths they’d go to stop her, he felt it necessary to be on top of his game. 

Being on top of his game meant no more meds.  He wiped the sweat from his forehead, ignoring the nagging voice that told him stopping pain meds cold turkey was more dangerous than sticking with them.  He didn’t care.  He’d spent months being drugged, rehabilitated and trapped by his own limitations.  That ended now, at least until he knew Hope was safe. 

“You okay, man?  You’re not looking so good.” Marshall met his gaze.  For the first time, he realized that Marshall probably suspected McGee, too.  He and Devon had done the research, went on the stake out last night, interviewed the source.  If Devon talked as much as Hope did, then Marshall knew as much--or maybe more--than he did. 

“You don’t need to hang out, McGee.  Hope will be home soon.” He resented the shaky hands and sweat on his brow more than he hated the pain in his lower back that reminded him that he’d pushed it too far.  Again. 

“I thought I’d crash in Dalton’s room, have your back,” McGee said with a grin.  “Hope likes having me here, says it makes her feel safe that you’re protected.”

He gritted his teeth and met his friend’s gaze.  “I don’t need protecting.”

“Hey, I mean you no disrespect, Colonel.  Just say’n...you’re not exactly your old self.”

“I’m here.”  Marshall grinned over the rim of his beer bottle and squinted at the television.  “I mean, I’m not exactly a Marine, but I hit the gym every day. My cardio is killer.”

He laughed when Marshall showed off his bicep without looking away from the hockey game.  With his shoulder length shaggy hair, skinny frame, ripped T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops, Marshall’s appearance didn’t exactly scream ‘lethal weapon.’ 

“I think I’ll stay,” McGee said with a laugh.  “I don’t mind.  I love this place. You really lucked out hooking up with Shane, Colonel.”

“Mike...I’m not a Colonel anymore...call me Mike.”  He hit info on the remote to check the time.  “I really want to spend time alone with my wife, McGee, so I’m serious when I say I’d like you to leave.  We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”

“Shane...I’ll never forget the first time you two met.  She didn’t like you much.  For awhile, I thought maybe I’d get a chance with her, but a woman like that wouldn’t settle for anything but the highest ranked officer in the room, even if she thought you were an ass.”  Even though McGee laughed, he didn’t sound amused.  “The woman’s always been ambitious.  I respect that.”

He looked at his trembling hands, unsure if it was caused by too much caffeine or withdrawal from his medication.  Marshall noticed, too, and frowned at him. 

“Want some water or something?” Marshall asked.  “I’m headed to the kitchen for another beer anyway.”

The front door opened with the two women immersed in conversation.  The first thing he noticed was the hat Hope wore pulled over her forehead, her long red hair tied back from her face beneath it and the yellow scarf tucked into the neckline of her leather jacket.  His gaze snapped back to the hat.  Wherever they’d been, it hadn’t been safe. 

She dropped her keys on the counter before squatting down to rub Dude behind the ears.  When she looked up, she stared directly at McGee without smiling. 

Trouble. 

“You two are back earlier than I expected,” Marshall said, standing when Devon approached him looking somber and tired. 

“We need to go,” Devon said with a nod in his direction.  “Colonel. Let’s leave these two alone.  I’m sure they need to talk.”

“I’m crashing on Dalton’s bed,” McGee said, either unable or unwilling to take a hint. 

“Like hell you are,” Hope muttered without looking at them.  She removed her hat and slammed it on the granite countertop.  “Go, McGee.  I’ve got everything under control.” 

“Well, that’s blunt.” McGee stood and stretched his arms behind his back.  “Fine.  I’ll swing by tomorrow, see what’s up.”

“Don’t bother.”  She rubbed her forehead with trembling fingers.  The make-up around her eyes had worn off and failed to disguise her black eye or the exhaustion.  So much for the glamorous life of a famous war correspondent and investigative reporter.

He’d never seen her look like that.  He didn’t like it.

“What happened tonight?”  He scanned her for any fresh bruises.  “Where’d you go?”

“Long story.”  She shook her head and looked at her feet.  “I need a shower and for everyone to go now, okay? I don’t want to talk.”

She said a quiet good-bye to Devon, Marshall and McGee before locking all four deadbolts behind them all.  With a heavy sigh, she rested her forehead against the door and kept her back to him.