4
“I can’t do this right now,” I argued with Jackson on the way to Vigilance. We were in the back seat of his car, and Lance was driving. “There’s too much to be done. The president’s . . .” BFF didn’t sound right. “. . . staff will want an update, and I have to have something to give them.” Anything to avoid the topic of marriage.
“Any thoughts on who might have done it?”
“Not yet. But I’m hoping the Secret Service and my staff will have more information today.”
Jackson pulled me over so that I straddled his lap. “I missed you last night. It wasn’t exactly how I’d planned on ending our evening. So, which fandom are you wearing today?” His hands were on my hips and he spread open my coat so he could see my T-shirt. “Team Moose,” he read.
“It was either this or my Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey one,” I said. “I went for simple. And Mia freaked over the glasses.” I laughed. “I think you’ve earned sainthood in her book.”
“That’ll be the only book where I earn that particular designation,” he said wryly.
Jackson looked good today, going casual with jeans and a navy sweater layered over a striped button-down shirt. His hair was a bit askew from running his fingers through it. Unlike Clark’s hair, which always fell perfectly back into place when he did that.
Clark. Not a good thing to be thinking about right now.
“You look yummy,” I said, forcing my thoughts to the here and now. Leaning in, I kissed him. A slow, sweet, good-morning kiss that smelled of his aftershave and tasted of coffee.
“Yummy?” he asked when we parted.
“Yep. I could eat you up. I mean, not literally, but I’ve been working on idioms and euphemisms.”
“Excellent work.”
“Thank you,” I said, pleased at the compliment on my progress. “So where are you going to be today? Cysnet? Or working from home?” His “real” company that did “real” work, as opposed to SocialSpeak, the social network he’d invented that had made him a multimillionaire.
“Yes. I have several meetings, and work that can’t be done remotely.”
“Okay. Text me later.” I kissed him again as the car pulled to a stop. I hopped out, but Jackson snagged my hand, stopping me.
“You forgot this,” he said. And before I knew it, he’d slid the diamond ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. Jackson’s smile was brilliant.
“Right,” I said, forcing my fake smile. “Gotta go.”
Lance had dropped me off at the “official” entrance to Vigilance via the parking garage. I had to swipe my ID, my palm print, then be scanned for physical anomalies that didn’t match the profile on record before being allowed inside. Not wanting to answer anyone’s questions, I slipped the engagement ring into the pocket of my jeans.
Meetings and e-mail consumed my morning, though the reports were dismal. No one could find a digital footprint that led to the perpetrator, and the Secret Service wasn’t sharing any information that they had.
“So basically, we’re no better off than we were last night,” I said to the room at large. All the department heads were gathered around the conference room, and we’d spent the better part of three hours going through stacks of information that all led to the same place: nowhere.
“Sorry, boss,” Roscoe said, looking even more droopy than usual. Eeyore was his spirit animal.
It was frustrating to be in such a position and not know what to do next. Vigilance was a secret organization that had no public profile. We didn’t show up at crime scenes and investigate. We collected and analyzed data, then handed over what we found to those who took care of such matters. When Clark had worked there, we’d had a quasi-military arm that he’d directed. I’d closed that division down once he’d left, uncomfortable with replacing him, especially since the legality of those kinds of operations was rather dubious.
“Has the FBI discovered anything?” I asked Tessa, our liaison between Vigilance and other government offices.
“Forensics is working on it, but nothing yet,” she said.
“Okay, then, unless something else comes up, it’s business as usual.” I got up and everyone else began gathering their things as well.
I headed back to my office, hoping Scary BFF Kade didn’t call me again. Maybe I could earn my salary by helping Clark, starting with the list he’d given me.
It wasn’t much to go on. He’d written down six names. Logging on to my computer, I went to work.
Hours later, my searches came back with mixed results. They weren’t easy people to find, and it wasn’t as though I was just Googling. I had access to not only Vigilance, but FBI databases and municipal law enforcement, too. I stuffed my research inside my backpack so I could take it to Clark. Some of it wasn’t good and only increased my worry for him.
I rubbed my eyes underneath my glasses. I was tired and starving. I’d worked through lunch and hadn’t stopped except to snag a Red Bull from the break room’s fridge. Speaking of which, it was time for another one.
I was in the break room when it happened.
Loud noises, shouting, lots of booted feet on the metal staircase. People were here who weren’t supposed to be.
Instinctively, I yanked open the supply-closet door and tucked myself inside. It wasn’t big, but then again, neither was I. Crouching down amid the stacks of paper towels and cartons of coffee creamer, I listened and waited, my heart in my throat.
I could hear loud arguing, but no gunshots. Lots of footsteps went by, the steel mesh staircase and suspended walkways reverberating with the traffic. I pondered what to do. My cell was on my desk and there was no phone in the break room.
It grew quiet and still I waited. It had felt like forever, though the clock inside my head said more like twenty-three minutes. I couldn’t stay here all night. I needed to get back to my desk and my phone.
My office was one corridor away, but it felt like a mile. Every step I took had me wincing, waiting for someone to hear me. The normal hubbub of a full office was absent, giving the whole place the menacing quality of an empty high school at night.
Someone was already there, in my office. I could see the light was on as I hesitated at the corner. A man’s arm, resting on my desk, was visible from my vantage point, but nothing else. I stood for a moment, then made a decision. This was my department and that was my office. Whoever had usurped it and terrorized my staff would have to answer for it.
Stiffening my spine, I stopped creeping and marched to my door and swept inside. I faltered for only a second when I saw who sat at my desk.
“About time you showed up,” the president’s BFF said to me. He hadn’t even bothered to glance up from the computer monitor. “Have a seat.” He gestured to the two chairs opposite him.
“You’re in it,” I retorted, folding my arms over my chest.
He did look up then, and the coolness in his gaze made me rethink my minor rebellion. Kade Dennon wasn’t someone you crossed, I bet. At least, not twice. I sat.
“We have a bit of a situation,” he said.
“We were working on it, until your men cleared out my people.”
“I’m not a fan of kid gloves when dealing with terrorists.”
“We’re not the guilty party here,” I protested.
“No, but you employed one. Maybe more.”
That stopped me. I frowned in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“We have intelligence that Clark Slattery was behind the assassination attempt.”
I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. “That . . . that’s impossible. Clark is military—”
“Ex-military,” Dennon interrupted. “The best kind for wetwork.”
“I know him,” I said. “He would never do something like that. I don’t know what intelligence you have, but I would seriously consider the veracity and reliability of your source.”
“Right now, you should be more worried about how reliable I find you.” He leaned back in my chair and folded his hands, surveying me, the look in his eye glacial. My mouth went dry.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you’ve had unprecedented access to a great deal of information. Just a few months ago, you were in a situation with a nation known for their hostile intentions toward the United States. How do we know you weren’t compromised?”
Anger surged inside me and I gripped the arms of the chair to keep my control. “The Chinese beat and threatened me,” I gritted out. “Now you’re accusing me of working for them?”
“Pain and threats work,” he replied evenly. “Or else no one would use them.”
I took a breath. “I see.” My voice was icy. “So now not only are you accusing Clark of plotting to kill the president, I’m under suspicion, too?” Nice to know I was valued.
“You’re dangerous,” Dennon said with a shrug. “And my job is to protect the president.”
“Isn’t that the Secret Service’s job?”
His sharp gaze narrowed. “I take a . . . personal interest in his safety.”
“I’m not planning anything, nor am I working for anyone who is,” I said.
He flicked a switch on the computer in front of him and swiveled the screen so I could see. It was grainy security footage. I saw the same figure we’d seen before, only this time, he turned and I got a glimpse of his face. The picture froze on the screen, then enlarged, showing someone who looked very much like Clark in the black-and-white footage.
“That-that can’t be,” I stammered, staring at the grainy image. “Clark would never do that. He’d never try to assassinate someone.”
“Then what am I looking at?”
“I don’t know, but that can’t be him. Or . . . the footage has been altered somehow. But Clark would never try to kill President Kirk.”
“Trust me,” Dennon said. “With the right incentive, anyone will do anything.” Something about the way he said that made me think he had personal experience.
“So, if you think Clark’s the sniper, why are you shutting us down? We can find him.”
“I don’t trust you, or that Vigilance hasn’t been compromised. Until we find out, you’re closed for business.”
“And how am I supposed to prove that I’m one of the good guys? Take a lie-detector test?” Which was beatable, but still.
He rolled his eyes. “Please. As if I’d trust that thing. No, you’re going to prove you’re not involved by finding Clark Slattery and handing him over. To me.”
I went still. “Hand him over to you . . . for what?”
“That’s above your pay grade. Just do as you’re told.”
“And I won’t get hurt?” I added.
Dennon smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. “I didn’t say that. Just do your job.”
“How? You’ve taken away the best tool we have.”
“You’re a smart girl, China. You’ll figure it out.”
I left Vigilance through the “front” door, escorted by two men with guns. The locks clicked shut and somehow I doubted my ID card would get me back in. I had the heebie-jeebies. The Men in Black hadn’t exactly been friendly or chatty.
My phone buzzed with a text message, and I picked it up.
Meet me across the street. Usual place.
Okay, the number was one I didn’t know, and “usual place” was ubiquitous. I texted back, Who is this?
I used the Poo-Pourri.
Ah. Clark.
Okay.
The sun had long since set, which meant I went to work and came home in the dark. I jogged across the street to the little Italian eatery, grateful for the tomato-scented warm air that enveloped me when I stepped inside. Clark was sitting at the far-corner red-and-white checked table with his back to the wall. I hurried over, pulled out the spindly wooden chair, and sat down.
“I ordered for you,” Clark said. He was in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. I wondered if he had several leather jackets that were all the same and he alternated, or if it was just the one.
“I haven’t told you what I wanted,” I said. “How could you possibly order for me?”
His eye roll was epic. “I’ve never seen you eat anything but the same kind of pizza. I took a guess.”
Just then the waitress arrived, setting a cola and a cannoli in front of me.
“I can’t eat this first,” I protested. “It’s dessert.” But she was already gone.
“Have dessert first,” he said. “Life’s short.”
I looked at him, then the cannoli, then him again. I picked up the fork.
“How’d the search go?” he asked. His eyes flicked beyond me, constantly moving and watching. His posture looked casual, but I knew he was tense and alert.
“I have some bad news, and some worse news,” I said through a mouthful of cannoli. “Which do you want first?”
“You pick.”
“Two of the men you listed are deceased.”
There was a moment before Clark replied, which I supposed was all the emotional response he was going to give.
“Who?”
“Taggert and Williams,” I said. “Taggert a month ago. Williams two weeks ago.”
“How?”
“Taggert was a car wreck. Williams drowned.”
“He drowned? That makes no sense. He was a Navy SEAL.”
“It’s what the police report said.” The cannoli was nearly gone.
“What about the other two?” he asked.
I shoved the last of the cannoli in my mouth, then dug in my backpack, pulling out the stack of papers. “One is still in the service and currently deployed. One, William Buckton, runs a security firm.” I spread the papers on the table.
“Where is he?” he asked, picking up a stack and flipping through it.
“Omaha.”
“And what about the operation?”
“There’s nothing about any kind of infiltration into Bab al-Azizia,” I said. “It’s nonexistent. There was nothing anywhere, not even a whisper or trace. If there are any records, they’re on paper only, or very well hidden.”
Clark grimaced. “That’s unfortunate.”
The waitress arrived with our pizza, and I cleared a place for it. It was half-and-half, with my half being just pepperoni and Clark’s half being every meat they had in the place.
“What’s the other news?” he asked.
I slid a dripping slice onto my plate. “The Secret Service has video footage and thinks you’re the sniper who tried to kill the president.”
That got a reaction. He’d been reaching for his own slice and stopped.
“Excuse me? What did you say?”
“I don’t know how, but your face is on security footage of the building the sniper fired from.”
“I’m not a sniper.”
“I guess they think otherwise,” I said through a mouthful of cheese. “The footage has probably been doctored, but he wouldn’t let us examine it. Apparently, I’m under suspicion, too. If I find you, I’m to turn you over to them.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do?”
I took another bite. “Of course not,” I mumbled. “Proving your innocence after they already have you in custody would be pretty difficult.”
Leaving the edge of crust on my plate, I reached for more, then noticed Clark still wasn’t eating. “Did they make it incorrectly?” I asked. “We can have them make it again. I only ate one slice.”
He shook his head, his lips twitching in an odd sort of smile. “Sometimes you surprise me, that’s all.” Finally, he took a slice of pizza and bit off a chunk.
“Because I don’t meet your expectations of my behavior?”
“Because you exceed them.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It sounded like a compliment . . . but Clark didn’t give compliments. I decided a change of subject was the best response and the one I was most comfortable with.
“Do you think one of the other members of the team is after you?” I asked. “It can’t be a coincidence that two of the names you gave me are deceased so recently.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Though why they’d wait until now is a mystery. It’s been six years.” He picked up a second slice and demolished half of it with two bites.
My cell buzzed. Jackson was calling.
“Where are you?” he asked when I answered.
“Eating pizza,” I replied. “You still at work?”
“It’s not pizza night,” he said. “And, yes, I need to work late tonight, but I didn’t want you stranded at work.”
I sucked down some Coke before replying. “It’s fine. I’ll have Mia come get me.” I’d finally allowed her to start driving my Mustang occasionally. So long as I wasn’t with her at the time, I could handle it.
“So why the break from routine?” Jackson asked. “You never have pizza on a Friday.”
“Uh . . .” The reason was something I couldn’t tell him—that I was with Clark and he’d been the one to choose the restaurant. “I guess I was just craving pizza.” I winced. It didn’t matter if I was craving something. My nightly dinner schedule was printed on card stock and laminated. For real. Luckily, Jackson seemed to accept that.
“Okay, well, I’ll call you later. Text me when you get home, please. I want to make sure you get home safe.”
“Will do. Bye.” I ended the call, going back to my pizza. Clark was studying me.
“What?” I asked. “Do I have sauce on my chin?” I dabbed my mouth with a napkin.
He shook his head. “I thought you would’ve told him.”
“About you?” I frowned. “You told me not to. Why would I tell him?”
“Loyalty.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, a bit exasperated. “You think I’m being disloyal to Jackson because I’m keeping my promise to you? That makes no sense.”
“I don’t mean it as a bad thing,” he said, reaching for more pizza. “I just didn’t think you’d pick loyalty to me over loyalty to Coop.”
I started on my third slice, mulling over what he’d said. This wasn’t my usual pizza place, but it was pretty good. “The consequences of disloyalty are much higher for you at the moment. My decisions are logical.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” he said, deadpan.
I studied him as I chewed, trying to figure out what he was thinking, and failed. “Shouldn’t you be in hiding or something? Especially if someone is after you and already knows you’re here in Raleigh. And now the government is after you, too.”
“Thought you might need a ride home from work. And I’ve left a false trail out of here, heading west.”
“So now what? You’re just going to run forever, hiding?”
He looked at me as though I’d just asked him to wear a miniskirt and hula hoop. “Of course not,” he said. “I’m buying time. I need to speak to the guy you found, see what he knows. I’ll head to Omaha tonight.”
Alarm shot through me and I put down the pizza I was about to take a bite out of. “By yourself?”
“I work alone. You know that.” He sat back in his chair, apparently finished eating.
“I don’t think you should go by yourself,” I said, shaking my head.
“You offering to ride shotgun?”
I wiped my hands on my napkin. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“I’d be hard-pressed to think of a worse one.”
I glared at him. “Listen, I just helped you out. And chances are, I could help you more if you take me with you. I’m not asking to be Robin to your Batman. Just that it’s not always best to work alone. Maybe you should rethink your policy.”
“My policy keeps you safe,” he said.
“Unless you’re planning on locking me inside a bubble, I’m not safe. No one is. Not really. I have a higher likelihood of a heart attack than being killed just because I’m with you.”
“That’s debatable,” he argued, picking up the check the waitress dropped off and reaching for his wallet.
“Here,” I said, digging in my backpack and handing him a twenty. But he didn’t take it, instead focusing on my wallet.
“What does that say? Slayer?”
I looked at my black-and-white wallet. “Yeah. I got it off Etsy. See? The zipper pouches inside have Spike’s image all over, and it says Slayer everywhere else. Cool, right?”
Clark’s expression was pained.
“What? Are you okay? Do you need some Tums or something? Sometimes the tomato sauce gives me heartburn, too.”
But he just waved my concern aside. “Never mind. And keep your money. I can at least buy you dinner after you let me crash at your place last night.”
“Oh.” That made sense. “Okay, then.” I stuffed the money back into my wallet, and wallet back into my backpack. “Take me home?” We could argue there about my going with him.
I followed Clark outside, where he led me to a motorcycle. I looked at him.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He grabbed a helmet and tried to hand it to me. “Am I laughing?”
“Listen, I’ll just take an Uber home—”
“You’re scared of riding a motorcycle?”
“Absolutely. Anyone in their right mind would be. The fatality rate of motorcycle crashes compared to passenger vehicles is over five times higher.” I’d planted my feet on the ground and grabbed onto the light pole just for good measure.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight, so you have no choice,” Clark said, taking off my glasses.
I grabbed for them, but missed. “What are you doing? You know I can’t see.”
He slid them inside his jacket. “It’ll be better this way.”
“No. Clark, I do not want to ride a motorcycle.” I latched onto the pole with both hands now, which he began peeling away, finger by finger.
“You’ll be fine. I promise. You just hang on to me and close your eyes.”
I was breathing too fast and spots started appearing in my blurry vision. “No, Clark, I can’t. Please.” All I could see was an image of my body being thrown from the back of his bike onto the hard asphalt, which would rip through my clothes and skin like cheese through a grater.
“Okay, okay, calm down. Look, I’m not touching you, okay?” He’d suddenly stepped back, away from me, putting his hands in the air as if I were arresting him. “It’s cool.”
Something zinged past me, hitting the brick wall of the restaurant, then my cheek suddenly stung. I couldn’t see anything but Clark right in front of me, who plucked me from that pole as if I were the size of a toddler. A moment later, we were on his bike and he’d fired up the engine.
“Hold on to me,” he said, pulling my arms around his chest. “And don’t let go.”