CHAPTER FOUR
Zachari, CA
Two weeks later, Sunday, 4:40 p.m.
SCOTT HAD BEEN FOLLOWING VALERIE since she left Virginia two weeks ago, and she still hadn’t led him to her co-conspirator, who Hollowell now believed was Suresh. Seeing as how the guy had gone dark the same day Valerie split, it wasn’t a stretch. Hollowell probably had to pull his own teeth to get himself to admit it, though. He’d been so fucking sure she was working alone.
But the old man’s suspicions of Valerie appeared valid. Everything pointed to her guilt. In addition to the offshore account, someone had been willing to kill to help her escape the feds, and she’d immediately taken off for Zachari, California—about sixty miles north of Los Angeles—with a destination in mind. No hesitation, despite no obvious link to the town.
And yet, after trailing her for two weeks, he still had a hard time believing she was guilty.
The turncoat was too fucking nice. She tipped delivery drivers well. She drove too fast in the beat-up Accord she’d purchased in West Virginia, but she didn’t tailgate or cut people off or honk at stupid drivers. She held the door for people and thanked them for doing the same. It wasn’t forced with her either, it was clearly unconscious habit.
Or maybe she was too fucking hot, and he was the dumbass who turned stupid around a pretty face.
Which made him laugh. Up until he glimpsed her spark on that last day in Virginia, she’d been the quiet girl in baggy clothes hiding behind a large computer monitor, a messy ponytail, and a foreign language of proxy servers, backdoors, sniffers, and other geek-speak.
But computer nerd or not, the woman helping her elderly landlady unload groceries—keeping up the ruse?—had been transformed. She’d carved out side-swept bangs that balanced her oval face, and her dark brown hair fell in a shiny sheet past her shoulder blades, reflecting red and blond highlights in the setting sun. She was sexy as hell in slim jeans that hid lean, athletic legs, and a sweater the wind had molded to her killer rack.
Christ, she was guilty of espionage, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her tits.
But he also couldn’t stop thinking about the fear and confusion on her face when the sniper started shooting, and again when he told her to run. Scott would bet good money that she hadn’t been in on that day’s massacre.
Which didn’t make her innocent. Getting involved with the criminal underworld made her culpable. Given her history, he’d expected her to be smarter.
Scott adjusted his position in the recently purchased beater of a cargo van. Across the street, she gave the older woman a gentle hug before striding to the detached-garage-turned-guest-house. The small rental exactly matched the main house, right down to its white trim, green wood siding, and stone porch.
Valerie—now going by Victoria Reynoso—had done a nice job of covering her tracks but she clearly didn’t realize her efforts were useless. Scott didn’t have much to offer the world, but he knew how to be invisible.
And how to wait.
Down the street, the feds were watching too, operating out of a two-story motel called The Dolphin, which had probably been built in the fifties and never refurbished. Since he wasn’t in contact with them, he’d made up his own names for the agents to amuse himself as he watched them spy on Valerie.
He’d noticed Hurley first. Later, he’d added Roxy, Billy, Van, Rip, and Oakley, though they did a pretty good job of staying covert. He supposed they had some experience.
They wanted Valerie to lead them to Suresh—and possibly her buyer—before bringing her in, and Hollowell wanted Scott to stay on as backup and to keep him in the loop. Fine with him. Better they capture both traitors.
Assuming she was meeting up with Suresh at all. A smart woman would cut ties and start fresh.
Scott scratched the beard he’d been growing since they took to the road. After so many years in the Marines, shaving was a habit, but his scruffy face changed his look completely. Combine that with the blond highlights the sun had given his overlong hair, sunglasses, and board shorts, and Valerie hadn’t looked at him twice. He was just another transient surfer parked at the beach across from her cottage.
The surfers figured he was just another guy living out of his van. Which, basically, he was.
He’d been reading Meditations by Marcus Aurelius for nearly an hour when Valerie emerged from her tiny house. She wore a green V-neck shirt and white jeans with sparkly flip-flops.
“Where’re you going, honey?” he asked under his breath.
He’d know soon enough. Even if he lost her, the GPS tracker on her car made sure of that. Probably the FBI had planted their own tracker too.
Thirty minutes later, he entered Good Old Days Bar & Grill on Harbor Drive. Tonight was the first time Valerie had gone out in the evening. It had to mean something. Maybe she was tired of being home alone, but he’d never seen her watch football in her apartment back in Virginia. He doubted she was here for the game.
The place was loud, with a half-dozen flat-screen televisions tuned to the Cowboys–Giants game. Thanksgiving was still a couple of days away, but shimmery green garland draped every booth and circled every pillar in a desperate attempt at cheer. Glittery bells hung in the corners, and an anemic fake tree dressed in tiny beer bottles, football helmets, and hockey sticks sat in the corner by the door.
Every stool flanking the wide wooden bar was occupied. Valerie had staked out one at the far end, and she sipped a dark beer, her eyes on the entrance.
She barely registered his appearance, clearly looking for someone else. Not that he expected her to recognize him. The Vans snapback hat was just an extra precaution. He ordered a beer—some piss-pale American crap so he wouldn’t be tempted to drink much of it—and feigned interest in football.
Across the bar from where he stood, Valerie shook her head at the man next to her and he straightened, a slight frown on his too-pretty face. She glanced around and returned her gaze to the door.
Slowly, casually, Scott turned to lean his hip against the bar, giving him a view of the open area of tables as well as the entrance. So far, he’d seen none of the feds on her detail, but with luck, by the end of the night, they would have both Jay and Valerie in cuffs.
As much as he’d enjoyed the change of pace of this assignment, it was time to go home and get pretty Valerie, the fucking Benedict Arnold, off his brain.
Valerie sipped her beer and fingered the collar of her shirt. She still wasn’t used to wearing form-fitting clothes.
The sports bar was loud, with twelve flat-screen televisions around the room all tuned to the game, and the din of conversations and shouts overlaying the announcers’ voices. Green tissue paper pine trees hung from the ceiling, and a life-sized elf holding a bowl of mints stood sentinel just inside the door, a dismal reminder of the coming holiday.
The clientele was fairly clean cut. Apparently, this place appealed to the frat-boys-turned-suburban-dads and young professionals alike, along with a few surfer types.
Good Old Days was the only sports bar in Zachari with the Dallas game on its main screens tonight, and she was hoping Jay would show. He loved the Texas team as much as she hated the state they hailed from. Jay had given her a hard time about it, even going so far as to buy her a Cowboys T-shirt as a joke for her birthday.
After their success with Westgate, he’d disappeared. All she had was the voicemail he’d left while she was answering the door to the feds, warning her to get out of town. Since then, he’d been silent. How had he known she was in danger?
Now that the Cowboys were playing, she had a chance to find out. Jay’s offhand comment about Zachari at the company Christmas party two years ago had brought her to California. She had no idea if he was living here, but—like everyone—he was a creature of habit. That made the football game her best chance to track him down.
As long as Duncan, or law enforcement, hadn’t picked up her trail, she and Jay might get out of this alive.
She scanned the knots of people seated at tables and booths up front, but didn’t spot him. Behind the bar, a stocky young blonde with chin-length hair filled beer mugs pretty much nonstop.
“Need a refill?” the blonde asked, wiping her hands on a red apron. Earrings perforated both ears from tip to lobe, and she had snakebite piercings beneath her lower lip that, at first glance, looked like zits.
Valerie ordered another stout. If necessary, she would sit here all night. Might as well have a little more liquid courage.
The woman returned with a frothy glass a minute later and took her money. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Actually,” Valerie leaned in and tried to look concerned, “I got here late and I’m hoping I didn’t miss my friend. I thought you might remember if you’d served him. Tall, good-looking Indian man? His name’s Jay.”
The woman studied her for a minute as if trying to decide if she was legit, but then shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, but unless they hang out at the bar for a while or tip really well, the faces are all a blur.”
Figured. “I understand. Thanks anyway.”
Valerie took a sip of the bitter drink and glanced at the TV screen over the bar without really seeing it, trying to pretend she wasn’t really watching the door.
Since arriving in California, she’d spent all of her free time either looking for Jay or trying to find a way into Aggressor’s computers. She’d been researching the employees and their families, looking for their backgrounds, hobbies, and interests by friending them on social media.
Once she set her traps, she’d go phishing. But if she found Jay, maybe she wouldn’t need to.
And almost like magic, two minutes later, he walked in the door and stopped in the entry next to the tacky Christmas tree. She launched herself off the stool and threaded her way through the thick crowd. At first, he didn’t notice. Then his gaze settled on her face, and his dark features registered shock. Face flushed, he strode up to her, grabbed her by the upper arm, and dragged her to the corridor leading to the bathrooms.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, glancing around him. “Were you followed?”
Her heart galloped. She’d never seen him like this. “Jay…” She shook her arm free from his painful grip. “No. I don’t think so.” If anyone already knew where she was, wouldn’t they have grabbed her by now?
“How did you find me?” he asked, his voice thick with displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
“You told me about Zachari once. The way you talked about it, I figured I’d start here. It was the only lead I had since you scrubbed your online presence.”
His head snapped back. “I told you about this place?”
She wasn’t surprised he didn’t remember. They hadn’t discussed childhood memories much, but there was one night… “When you got drunk at the holiday party and I drove you home. You said you came here for vacation as a kid and you loved how it was named after the Greek word for sugar because life here had to be sweet. That stuck with me.”
He grimaced and made an angry noise in his throat. “Fucking stupid. If I’d realized…” His gaze roved the crowd for threats before he faced her. “But how’d you find me here?” He pointed to the floor.
“The Cowboys game. This was the only place in town for Dallas fans. Well, the only one that’s not scary.”
“Dammit.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and frowned. “I know better.” Gripping her shoulder, he squeezed hard and narrowed his eyes, leaning too far into her personal space. “What do you want?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “I need your help,” she said, unable to keep her voice calm. “Your phone call came too late, but clearly you know something about what’s going on.” She pressed against his chest and he shifted back, letting go. “Besides Duncan, you’re the only one who knows I’m innocent. You can tell the FBI. Maybe they’ll clear us both if you testify.”
Jay gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. “Don’t be naive, Valerie.”
All the fight drained out of her. He’d been her one hope. “You won’t even try? Don’t you want your life back?”
“Try what, exactly?”
“Anything.” Her voice screeched, and she glanced around. The last thing she wanted to do was attract attention. Not that anyone could hear her over the music or the noise of the game.
She took a deep breath, returning her attention to Jay. In the calmest tone she could muster, she said, “We’re smart. I know if we put our heads together we can figure some way out of this.” She held his upper arm. “Please. We can’t give up. We can’t let him win.”
“I’m sorry.” He shrugged free of her hold and shook his head. “I can’t help you.”
Her stomach turned to stone. Without Jay, what chance did she have? “How did you know I was in danger when you called?”
Jay clamped his lips shut and refused to meet her eye.
Well, then.
For a moment she had no words.
Ignoring the knife of betrayal lodged in her back, she said, “You were involved?”
He scowled, but didn’t deny it.
“Why?”
“Does it matter?” He crossed his arms and met her gaze, his dark brown eyes full of anger, fear, and regret.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened. “Duncan threatened Priya.” The woman Jay was still in love with.
Valerie sighed. “You can’t run forever.” She sure as hell didn’t want to. She wanted her life back. Her freedom. “Aren’t you tired of looking over your shoulder? It’s only been two weeks, and I can hardly stand it. I’m tired of being on edge, thinking at any moment that Duncan’s goons might find me. I can’t live like this, Jay.”
He narrowed his eyes at her and put a balled fist against the wall over her head. “If you turn yourself in, I’ll be long gone. There are plenty of places to hide out that I know I never told you about.”
Anger surged through her. Had their friendship meant nothing to him? “You think I would give you away even if I did go to the police?” As if she’d surrender. Without Jay all she had was the emails she’d hidden on the flash drive, and she didn’t even have those in her possession. Now that everyone thought she was behind the deaths of Agents Dresner and Williams, she needed solid proof.
Somehow, she managed to keep her face from drooping in defeat. “You don’t know me at all. Maybe you never did.”
“Valerie, I’m sorry.” Jay stood with his eyes downcast, the anger visibly draining out of him like blood from a cut.
“Me too.” She straightened and nudged him out of her way. “Good luck.” Without looking his way again, she strode to the ladies’ room.
Inside, she ignored the curious look from a redhead at the sink and hid in the nearest open stall. Gulping deep breaths to keep the waterworks at bay, she balled her fists and squeezed her eyes shut.
Damn him. Damn him. She wanted to kick something. How could he just give up? How could he leave her hanging like this, danger dangling over her like a sword?
She choked back a sob and leaned her head against the stall door. How was she going to exonerate herself now?
Scott could read lips passably, but neither Valerie nor Suresh was facing his way, so he was stuck reading body language.
And there was plenty of it.
Suresh was pissed. Valerie went from happy to surprised to angry, and then nearly broke down right there. Whatever Suresh had said, it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Apparently there was no honor among cyber thieves either.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
He’d texted Hollowell to let him know Suresh was here. Scott was supposed to keep an eye on them both until the FBI stepped in. Easier said than done, considering they didn’t look likely to leave here together.
When Valerie bailed to the bathroom, he followed Suresh. Scott could track her down later, and her former partner in crime was on his way out the door. Apparently football was no longer on the man’s agenda for the evening.
Scott waited a few beats and then trailed his quarry.
Pretending to be engrossed in something on his phone, he pushed through the door into the dark parking lot. The air had cooled and the scent of green onions and eucalyptus drifted on the ocean breeze. Traffic on the nearby 101 whooshed in the background, providing a steady stream of white noise that ebbed, but never quite died out.
Suresh was nowhere in sight, but he couldn’t have gotten away that quickly. Scott pocketed his phone and strode through the shadows toward the end of the building. He spotted Suresh hurrying toward a white Chevy in the side lot under one of the few working streetlamps.
“Jay?”
Suresh stopped and turned to a man who stood in the shadow of a gray truck.
Light flashed, followed by a quiet pop. Suresh crumpled.
Oh, shit. “Hey!” Scott yelled, breaking into a run.
The gunman followed suit, jumping onto a motorcycle parked face-out two spaces away. He fired up the crotch-rocket’s engine with its throaty growl and peeled out. The man glanced over his shoulder, giving Scott a glimpse of his face.
Hurley. One of the FBI agents who’d been following Valerie.
“What the fuck?” Dread filled Scott’s gut, heavy like wet cement. He jogged to the break between cars and stopped cold.
Jay Suresh lay sprawled on the macadam, blood shimmering on his face like black oil. His eyes were open and staring at the sky, sightless.
Either Hurley wasn’t FBI at all, or he was rotten.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Scott dialed 911. “A man was just shot in the parking lot of Good Old Days on Harbor Drive. When I approached, the shooter took off on a red motorcycle, probably a Honda, California license plate beginning with 11K92.”
“Sir, may I have your name?” the operator asked.
Scott gave her a brief description of Hurley and hung up. He wasn’t going to stick around for the police. Until he figured out what was going on with Hollowell and the FBI, he didn’t trust anyone. He wiped his disposable phone and dumped it in the trash can before returning to the restaurant.
He needed to find Valerie before someone else did.
Noise and light hit him like a blast as the door shut behind him with a soft thunk. He stopped and searched the tables and the bar for her.
“Hello.” The hostess gave him an inviting smile. “Back for more already?”
“Just looking for someone.” He walked past her, ignoring her disappointed frown, and headed for the corridor to the restrooms. It wouldn’t take long for the cops to arrive, and he wanted to be out of here—with Valerie—before that happened.
At the door to the ladies’ restroom, he paused to listen. No talking, no water running, no noise. Pushing open the swinging door, he peeked inside. His target sat on an upholstered bench in a small anteroom where women could check their makeup or change a baby diaper. She didn’t look up at first, just stared at the tile, kneading her long, thin fingers.
He stepped inside. “Valerie.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes widened as she pressed her back to the wall.
A quick check of the stalls showed the bathroom was empty. Removing his baseball cap, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the still unfamiliar beard as he returned to stand in front of her. “It’s Scott Kramer. From Aggressor.” As if that would make her feel safer.
She covered her mouth with a shaky hand as she scrutinized him, recognition dawning in her eyes. “How’d you find me?” she asked, her voice tight and breathy.
“I never lost you. I’ve been following you since four days before you ran.”
Her jaw slackened and she looked away, clearly absorbing that revelation. Funny how even hackers bristled when their privacy was invaded. Too bad he didn’t feel like laughing right now.
“Look.” He stepped closer and she shrank further into herself. “I know you probably don’t trust me, but we need to get out of here.” He ignored her wary expression and pressed on. “You’re not safe anymore.”
Her eyebrows knit. “What do you mean?” She held his gaze, as if looking for something. He’d never noticed the streaks of gold and green in her eyes before.
Moron. He crossed his arms and took a deep breath to break the bad news.
“Suresh is dead.”