CHAPTER FIVE
Zachari, CA
Sunday, 6:10 p.m.
THE SCRUFFY VERSION OF SCOTT dressed in a Black Keys concert T-shirt, tan cargo shorts, and running shoes crouched in front of Valerie. She was still reeling from his sudden—and definitely unexpected—appearance, when his words registered.
Suresh is dead.
She shook her head. “But I just saw him… What happened?”
“Someone shot him in the parking lot.”
Oh, God. Her heart stopped, just hung for a full beat, a painful, useless lump of clay in her chest. Duncan wasn’t playing around. She took a shuddering breath and squeezed her eyes shut.
Poor, sweet, brilliant Jay. How could he be dead?
She met Scott’s gaze, the deep blue eyes she’d daydreamed about. He’d never looked at her with adoration, had never really noticed her before she got into this mess. Now he stared back, his gaze hard and flat with no reassurance.
He might not want her dead, but he didn’t like her. Scott had been following her, and now Jay was—
Anger burned through her like a wildfire on dry grass. “This is your fault, then.” She wanted to shove him away, beat at him, kick and scream. “You told Duncan where to find us.”
Frowning, he said, “Yes, but I never expected this. It was one of the feds…”
He didn’t even try to deny it. Her gut tightened. Was there a single man in her life other than her sweet dad who hadn’t betrayed her? Ever?
Scott held out a hand. His fingers were long and lean, his palm callused. “We can talk more later. I just called the police, so we need to get out of here before they arrive.”
Valerie didn’t move. Could she trust him? All she had was his word. For all she knew, he’d killed Jay. Or maybe Jay wasn’t dead at all. Hope made her heart leap, but Scott’s expression gave her little room for it.
“I didn’t do it.” His hand dropped and he gave her some space. “I’m not a fan of either of you, but I’m not…” He scoffed and shook his head. “Okay, technically, I am a killer. But I swear to God, Valerie, right now I’m trying to save your life.”
I am a killer.
She shivered. She’d known that. Duncan might have kept her out of the field, but she knew what men like Scott did when they were on a mission. She admired their discipline, their unshakeable confidence in their physical abilities, and their straightforward nature.
But having all those qualities focused in her direction was…unnerving.
Sirens punctured the noise of the bar outside the bathroom door. As a fugitive who’d left behind two dead FBI agents, what choice did she have? Better the devil she knew, right? If he’d wanted to kill her, he could have done the job right here in the bathroom with no witnesses.
She hitched her oversized purse up her shoulder and took Scott’s warm, rough hand, letting him pull her to stand on shaky legs. It didn’t matter if she trusted him or not. He’d caught her—had apparently been following her from the very beginning—and she had little chance of escaping now without getting hurt. Better to go with him and wait for an opportunity to run.
She had to regroup anyway. Her entire plan had hinged on finding Jay and convincing him to testify. Without him, she had nothing.
Scott released her, cracking the door to check the corridor before pulling it wide enough for them to leave. Conversations, laughter, and the sounds of football commentary swarmed around them, along with the scent of charred burgers, onion rings, and stale beer. From outside, the approaching sirens cut through the jovial din.
“This way.” He gripped her hand again, pulling her down the hall toward the back of the building.
As if she needed more proof that her life sucked, the one man she’d wanted so desperately to notice her finally had. And he thought she was everything he fought against.
And maybe wanted her dead.
She pushed aside her petty disappointments, ignored the sense of violation that sliced through her at learning she’d been followed for weeks, buried the horror of Jay being dead not fifty yards away—as much as she could—and followed Scott into the kitchen.
Life was a string of bad shit. She’d had a good run for a few years, but she should have known it was only a matter of time before she crashed.
Fryers beeped, pots clanged, and short-order cooks glanced up with surprise on their faces, but no one bothered to stop them. Most of them probably didn’t speak much English. Scott led the way past the stock room and a small break room, and leaned on the push-bar for a green metal door that had been propped open with a floor mat.
Cool, moist air thick with the stench of rotting garbage and fry grease enveloped them as they entered the alley. A light over the door illuminated liquor boxes and kegs and broken glass scattered along the base of the brick wall.
Scott faced her, still holding her hand as if afraid she’d run if he let go. “We’re going to walk down the alley to Canejo Boulevard and then cross over to Sugar Beach.”
“Okay.” She let him keep her hand.
His grip tightened, but he kept their pace casual as the sirens stopped on the other side of the building and blue lights flashed off the alley wall.
Blue lights meant cops. Here because Jay was dead.
Why hadn’t she followed him outside? They’d been friends and partners for three years. Together, they’d defeated every computer system thrown at them, much to the chagrin of many government agencies, contractors, and a few terrorist groups. Of course, she and Jay were the good guys. They broke into systems in order to find security holes before the black hats did.
And with enough time, they always found a hole. Often all it took to break in was a little social engineering to get someone on the inside to reveal key information.
That had been Valerie’s strong suit. Despite being an introvert, she had a knack for getting people to believe her con. Maybe being a woman made her seem less like a potential threat, but whatever the reason, whenever she asked someone to open an email attachment to make sure it had come through okay, they always did. They even trusted her when she told them she was calling from their IT department and needed to reset their password.
Jay had been better at writing malicious code to break through barriers on the networks and hide their tracks so they didn’t set off alarms.
And now he was…gone.
Her throat tightened painfully. Tonight, he’d been so scared. Was his death her fault? If she hadn’t come to Zachari would he be safe? Either way, she was next on the hit list. She’d led Duncan right to him, so there was no need to keep her alive.
Valerie’s stomach clenched. Before she could even step to the side, she lost her dinner right there in front of God and Scott.
“Jesus.” He jumped back and released his hold.
She rested her hands on her knees and coughed. Dry heaves hijacked her body and she fought for breath. And right on cue, tears threatened and her nose started running.
Great. Bad enough that Scott thought she was on a par with CIA traitor Aldrich Ames, but now he was seeing her at her physical low too. Well, at least she hadn’t splattered her shoes.
An irrational laugh built in her throat.
Digging through her purse, she located a tissue and wiped her face, and then unwrapped a breath mint.
Finally looking up, she caught Scott staring at her with a mix of distaste and pity. “You okay?”
No. She nodded and started walking toward Canejo. She’d probably never be okay again. Not at the rate things were going.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked.
“Because I’m not sure who to trust right now,” Scott said. “And even if you’re guilty, I don’t want you to end up like your partner.” He appeared sincere—and she usually trusted her ability to read people—but if he’d been following her since early November, he’d already played her for a fool.
“That morning I ran into you in the parking lot at work wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”
His lips flattened but he remained otherwise stony-faced. “No.”
If possible, her heart shriveled even more.
They reached the two-lane road within minutes and crossed over to the shopping village that lined the Sugar Beach boardwalk. She used the bathroom under Scott’s watchful eye to wash her face and brush her teeth. Good thing she carried everything important in her purse.
A girl on the run always had to be ready.
He guided her down to the sand with a hand at her back, and pointed her away from the crowds. Waves thundered against the shore, illuminated by the lights on the pier and along the boardwalk. Her flip-flops threw sand against the back of her ankles as she walked, prickling like biting ants.
As they neared the water, the breeze strengthened, whipping her hair into her eyes like the blades of a blender. Facing the waves, she stopped and found a stretchy band in her bag, and then trapped her wild hair into a makeshift bun.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Somewhere we can lay low until I figure out what to do with you.”
She wanted to hit him with a witty comeback to show him she wasn’t afraid, but words failed her. Letting him take her hand again, she followed him into the darkness.
After giving her a moment to clean up in the cement-block public restroom next to the boardwalk, Scott prodded Valerie down the beach until they reached a small cluster of gnarly live oak trees that provided some buffer from the stiff breeze and kept them relatively hidden from view. The only light came from the nearby pier and the waxing moon.
Right now, the police were looking for the man who’d killed Jay, but at some point they’d probably realize Valerie had been at the bar. Then the manhunt—or woman-hunt—would be on.
If Scott were smart he’d turn her in, but after seeing a fed take out Suresh, he didn’t know who to trust. Dammit, he needed to think first.
Would the police expect her to stick around town or flee?
Scott wanted to get the hell out of Zachari, but for that they needed wheels. His van was safe, parked down the street from Good Old Days, but they couldn’t go near it until the police were done with the crime scene. The beach was as good a place to hang as any until he came up with a plan.
Valerie sat on a low branch and dug through her bag. She was like Mary freaking Poppins, pulling out one thing after another. Toothbrush, breath mints, tissues. What else did she have in there?
Shit. What kind of idiot didn’t search his captive’s bag for weapons? In fact, he hadn’t patted her down either. He knew better than to trust her just because she didn’t look like a threat. In Afghanistan, anyone might be gunning for you. Young woman, old woman, child. Didn’t matter.
“Let me see your purse,” he said, holding out a hand and wagging his fingers.
Startled, she removed her hands and looked up. For a second he thought she was going to ignore his command, but then she held it out by the thick strap, her arm trembling.
Hell, he might not trust her, but he didn’t want to scare her. Not too much. He needed her compliant but not paralyzed.
Keeping her in his peripheral vision, he meticulously went through every pocket of her mammoth tote bag, even checking the lining for hidden items. Valerie Sanchez was a woman ready to run. In addition to basic toiletries and feminine products, she also carried two clean pairs of white cotton bikini underwear, a spare T-shirt, individual packets of green tea, three granola bars, two thousand dollars in cash, and an unopened throwaway phone.
No birth control pills, no condoms.
So she hadn’t been looking to hook up with Suresh. Not that Scott cared. He handed the bag back to her. “Stand up. I need to check you for weapons.”
She set her purse on the tree limb and stood. No doubt she found his commanding tone unnecessarily barbaric, but there was little point in pretending that theirs was a friendly relationship. He needed to reestablish an emotional distance.
Pushing aside his appreciation for her body, he ran the backs of his fingers along her shoulders, down around the edges of her bra, and in between her breasts, checking to make sure she hadn’t hidden a knife or small pistol in her generous cleavage.
She stiffened.
“Sorry.” He couldn’t help but apologize. Some things died hard.
She kept her gaze trained on the sand.
Quickly, but thoroughly, he violated every inch of her privacy until he was certain she wasn’t armed. Christ, she was the criminal here, so why did he feel like the asshole right now? Goddamned fool.
Valerie resumed her perch on the wide branch and hugged her waist, refusing to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you leave me for the police?”
“I didn’t think you were safe. It seems likely that whoever wanted Jay dead was using you to find him. With that accomplished, you might be next on the list.” Mainly, though, he’d been going by his gut. “Besides, the last guys who tried to arrest you are pushing up daisies. I’d prefer to avoid a repeat.”
She looked away, scrunching her face in distaste.
“Look, whoever got to Suresh…” Something clicked in his brain like a chambered round.
Valerie couldn’t have killed Suresh herself, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t called in someone else to do it once she found him. With her partner out of the picture, she could take his share of the money. If she was guilty of treason, murder wasn’t such a stretch.
Fuck.
The idea had merit. And yet… The woman had puked, for God’s sake. Unless she was sick with remorse, he wasn’t buying her as a killer. Sure, she was an accomplished con artist, an expert liar. But, thanks to his dad—aka The Dick—Scott knew how to read people.
Everything from Valerie’s micro-expressions to her posture had been consistent, from the moment he’d started watching her for Hollowell. Not once had she shown even a hint of duplicity.
But that only made him doubt his skills. He needed time to sort things out in his head, because suddenly the instincts he’d trusted for so long were in question.
“What did you do with your phone?” he asked her.
Her dark brows came together and she tilted her head. “What phone?” She gestured to her bag. “I only have the burner for an emergency. I haven’t even taken it out yet.”
“You didn’t have a cell phone in the bar?”
“I haven’t used one since I tossed my iPhone in a dumpster at a strip mall in Manassas. I didn’t want to be traceable.” She snickered. “If I’d only known…”
At least his stalking skills were still unimpeachable. “How did you know Suresh would be at the pub?”
“I didn’t.” Her gaze sharpened on his face. “Why?”
Scott half shrugged. “He didn’t look happy to see you, so it wasn’t a planned meeting. I’m wondering how you found him.”
“Luck and guesswork.” She sighed and chewed her lower lip. “He talked about Zachari once at a holiday party after drinking too much. The name stuck with me. I’ve been driving around randomly hoping to run into him since I got here. Then I saw a banner for Sunday Night Football.”
Her fingers toyed with a loose thread on the hem of her shirt. “Jay was a huge Cowboys fan. He always preferred to watch the games at a sports bar, so I figured it was worth a try.” She blinked several times and hugged her knees, staring unseeing down the beach. “Now I wish I hadn’t.”
She appeared sincere. Was she that good of an actress?
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Scott said, trying not to picture the guy’s dead stare and bloodied face. He’d seen death too many times to count—delivered it plenty of times—but that didn’t mean he liked it.
Valerie’s eyes were dull. “If you didn’t kill Jay, who did?”
Guess the lack of trust went both ways. And if she didn’t do it, Scott being the culprit made a lot of sense from her standpoint. After all, why would Hollowell have Scott follow her to find Jay and then use someone else as a killer?
Jesus, everything had gone fucking catawampus.
“It was one of the feds. I saw his face clear as day under the streetlight.”
She raised her eyebrows at his words, but he was certain the man with the gun had been Hurley. He’d even been wearing the same ugly deck shoes.
“Have they been following me too?”
He nodded.
She absorbed that for a moment. “You think the shooter wanted revenge for the agents who were killed?”
Scott sighed. “Hell if I know.” Nothing made sense right now.
“But if you all knew where I was, and someone wanted revenge, why not take me out? I was the one with the agents, not Jay. Their deaths were my fault.”
“Maybe Hurley planned to come for you next. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to wait around to find out.”
Valerie hugged herself tighter. “Why didn’t they arrest me back in Virginia?”
“They were hoping you’d lead them to your buyer.”
“I would believe that if I had a buyer. But since I don’t, it doesn’t work.”
Yeah, right. “Based on your boss’s evidence, the FBI thinks you do.”
“Hollowell knows I’m not guilty,” she said, her voice hard as flint.
“How?”
“Because he’s the one who set me up.” Her eyebrows lifted. “And I’d bet he’s doing the same thing to you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I find Jay, and then he turns up dead. You and I were both at the bar. Makes sense that one of us did it.” She watched him expectantly.
“Or that we did it together.” Was that Hollowell’s game? Had he maneuvered Scott into taking the fall as Valerie’s accomplice? After all, she’d been saved by a sniper in the shootout with the FBI. And he’d been there too. Without his rifle, but still there. He’d even run through the parking lot for everyone to see. Dread rolled through his stomach like a rogue wave. “Son of a bitch.”