Burned (Shenandoah Shadows Novella Book 1) Page 10

  He hesitated. He had to tell him.

  “She’s a NOC. Was a NOC. They sent her to the course today for a training refresher. And a burn notice went out while we were together.”

  Omar whistled, long and low. “And Jake’s under orders to turn her over.”

  “It’s messed up. They were going to take her to a black site, man.” He struggled to keep his voice steady.

  Omar processed that. “And you’re sure she’s clean?”

  “I am.”

  “Okay, then, let’s roll.”

  “There’s one more thing. Two guys in a pickup are blocking the road to the house. They’ve blasted out most of the windows.”

  “You know how to party, don’t you?”

  He laughed shortly. “Yeah. According to Olivia’s friend, they’ve turned the truck bed into a sniper’s nest. I assume you’re carrying?”

  “It’s in the glove box.” He eyed the Suburban. “You want to go in on foot or see what this big boy can do?”

  “It’s not agency-issued, right?”

  “No, this is my personal ride.”

  “How do you feel about a little off-roading?”

  Omar grinned. “As long as you’re behind the wheel, let’s do it.”

  15

  Olivia crawled through the sea of broken glass to peek through the window opening, the unfamiliar gun heavy in her hand. It was too soon to be Trent returning with Omar. She understood that rationally, but still, she hoped.

  Her hopes smashed to the floor, shattered like the windows, when she saw the man and woman emerge from the black sedan.

  “Who is it?” Elle whispered from her spot on the kitchen floor.

  Olivia turned away from the window and responded in a low voice, “Believe me when I tell you, you don’t want to know. You should duck out back, hide on the deck until Trent comes back.”

  “No. I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “Elle,” she hissed, “being found here, now, will be career suicide. Please, I’m begging you, go.”

  Elle made a sound of protest.

  “Please. This isn’t what you were trained to handle. This is my thing. I’ll just be worried about you.”

  Elle locked eyes with her, and Olivia saw acceptance win out over bluster and bravado. During training, the desk jockeys were teased mercilessly for being soft. It was even worse for a woman.

  But the truth was she wasn’t equipped for hand-to-hand combat. There was no shame in it; but it was a fact.

  She nodded, grabbed the bottle of Chianti by the neck, and crept to the back door. Olivia watched her ease the slider open and slip soundlessly out onto the back deck.

  Once Elle was safely outside, Olivia scanned the room for an easily accessible spot where she could hide the handgun. Finding none, she reluctantly checked the safety and shoved it into her waistband, wincing at the poor firearm safety. But having the handgun out of reach was the greater evil.

  She inhaled deeply then ran to the door as Senator Anglin’s aide was still raising his fist to rap on it. She yanked the door open and pulled the senator inside.

  “Come on,” she shouted at Braden as she hustled his boss out away from the windows.

  He blinked at her, bemused, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

  “Senator, what are you doing here?” Olivia peered through the window. The night was dark and silent. No muzzle flash, no light or noise of any kind.

  But they were out there. And so was Trent.

  “Looking for you, of course,” Senator Anglin smiled a fond, indulgent smile. “I had a feeling you’d come here. I remember all those weekends during college. Your mother and I would borrow a car and bring some boys and some beers up here to unwind. Of course, that all ended once she started dating your father. My word, the times we had when we were single girls.”

  Olivia bit the inside of her cheek. The woman was a sitting United States Senator, and she hated to be rude, but this was an inopportune time to meander down memory lane.

  While she was still working out the least impolite way to cut off the story, Braden jumped in. He was unbothered by niceties.

  “Ma’am, please. Time is of the essence.”

  “Of course.” She shook her head. “You’re in danger, Olivia.”

  She gaped at the woman. “I noticed. How did you get up to the house? Aren’t there armed men blocking the road?”

  The senator smiled again. This time, the smile lacked warmth. “They’re federal agents, dear. They aren’t going to harm me.”

  “Federal agents? Which branch?” She’d assumed the shooters were federal law enforcement, but having confirmation was a gut punch.

  The senator waved a hand. “It’s not important. What is important is that you go with them, Olivia. I’m confident you can clear up this misunderstanding, but you need to talk to them. Not run. And look at you now, holed up here with no way to communicate with the outside world. What’s your plan? To go down in a hail of bullets, your family’s good name besmirched? Honestly, I expected more from you.”

  Olivia clicked her tongue against her teeth. Aside from the haughty judgmental tone, she couldn’t disagree with the senator. What was her plan?

  She exhaled. “The report I gave was accurate. I know the Mexican government didn’t agree to a contract with QL for the northern states. I saw the documents with my own eyes.”

  Braden interjected. “So, do what the senator says. Explain that to your handler … or whatever.”

  “I’d love to,” she retorted. “But the Agency’s put out a burn notice on me. If I set foot outside, I’ll be headed for an offshore black site. Suicide by cop isn’t an unappealing option compared to that outcome.”

  The senator gave Braden a look.

  “There must be some mistake … they weren’t supposed to … I’ll just clear this up.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “You’re not going to get a signal here,” Olivia informed him. “Down at the access road, you might. But don’t hold your breath.”

  He waved off her comment and powered up his device.

  Fine by her. He could learn the hard way.

  “Where is Mr. Mann?” the senator asked while her aide tapped at his phone

  “Pardon me?”

  “Mr. Mann. The gentleman from Potomac Private Services who was with you when the burn notice came across the wire, dear. Surely you remember him? Mr. West says he hasn’t checked in. He’s AWOL—or the private company equivalent.”

  Olivia furrowed her brow. She had to keep Trent out of this.

  “He’s not here.” The answer, while unilluminating, had the advantage of being true.

  The senator waited.

  “He left,” Olivia added unhelpfully.

  A miniscule nostril flare was the only sign that Senator Anglin was losing patience. But all Olivia needed was a small tell. The senator wasn’t interested in her, she was interested in Trent.

  “Success!” Braden crowed, breaking the silence and gesturing to the phone pressed against his ear.

  He held up one finger and pivoted a quarter turn so that his back was partially to Olivia and the senator. He pitched his voice low and spoke rapidly.

  Olivia strained to eavesdrop but she couldn’t make out Braden’s end of the conversation. After a murmured back and forth, he ended the call and turned back to face her and his boss.

  “It’s all taken care of. I’ve called a contact at the CIA. They just want to bring you in to give a statement. I personally guarantee your safety.”

  She barely payed attention to the glib political lies as they washed over her. Her focus was on the phone in his hand.

  “I can’t believe you got a signal,” she said.

  He frowned, puzzled at the apparent change of subject. “Yes, I have great coverage. Are you listening to me, Ms. Santos? You can explain what happened. The Agency is willing to hear you out.”

  She narrowed her eyes. The phone was slightly taller than most smartphones. And thicker,
too.

  “Great coverage? You must have phenomenal coverage. I don’t think there’s a carrier in the country that covers Shenandoah Falls Lake, Braden.”

  He blinked repeatedly and scuffed his shoes back and forth on the glass-littered floor.

  “But a Qīng Líng-manufactured Sat Phone, that’ll keep you connected just about anywhere on the globe. And, of course, there are satellites dotting the skies above the entire Eastern seaboard.”

  She reached inside her waistband and pulled out the gun in a smooth, practiced motion. She thumbed off the safety and trained the weapon on Braden. “Drop the phone.”

  His gaze shifted to the senator, who was standing a few feet behind Olivia’s right shoulder. Olivia didn’t take her eyes off his face.

  “Do as she says, Braden,” Senator Anglin’s familiar husky voice rang out firm and clear.

  Braden released his grip on the phone and it clattered to the floor. Olivia let out a tense breath.

  “Good, now you drop the gun,” the senator went on.

  “I … what?” Olivia started to turn her head toward the senator when the press of cold, hard metal hit her spine.

  She froze. A second later the loud click of a safety being disengaged against her back sounded. She swallowed hard.

  “The safety’s off, ma’am. So I’m going to bend down and place it on the floor, okay? I don’t want it to fire and hit your aide.”

  “Do it slowly, Olivia. I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  The pressure against her back vanished as the senator removed the gun. Olivia bent at her knees and kept her upper body straight as she squatted and placed the weapon on the floor.

  “The gun is on the floor. I’m coming back up now, okay?” She kept her voice calm and even.

  As long as the senator didn’t panic, Olivia could find a way out of this. She was sure of it.

  “Yes, do it now.”

  Olivia began to straighten up, and the sound of a gun discharging rang out behind her. She hit the floor. Why was the senator shooting at her?

  A nanosecond later, the front door crashed in.

  A dark-skinned stranger burst into the house, shouting at Braden to get on his knees. Olivia rolled over to her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. She assessed her condition, her ears ringing.

  The senator had only taken one shot, and she must’ve missed. Olivia was unscathed except for the splinters of glass embedded in her palms. She turned her head at the sound of shouting behind her.

  Senator Anglin was yelling at someone near the back of the house. The shoulder of the senator’s pale green silk blouse bloomed red and wet. She tottered on her heels, and then slid to the floor, streaking a long smear of blood down the wall.

  The senator hadn’t been the shooter. She’d been shot.

  Trent stepped out of the hallway.

  “You’re the one who fired?” Olivia asked.

  Trent nodded grimly. “She was aiming at the back of your skull when I came through the back door. I figured better her shoulder than your brains on the floor.”

  “You just shot a United States Senator,” Olivia informed him.

  “That’s nothing,” the guy cuffing Braden’s arms behind his back said. “There’s a pair of CNI agents hogtied in the back of my Suburban.”

  “You must be Omar,” Olivia said.

  “Pleased to meet you.” He nodded and dragged Braden to his feet.

  Trent hauled the senator to her feet one-handed, brushed the shards of glass off the seat of the armchair near the window, and deposited her into it. Olivia grabbed a clean kitchen towel from the stack near the sink.

  “Here. Press this against your shoulder.” She put it in the senator’s hand and guided it into place against the wound.

  Trent jerked his head toward the back of the house.

  Olivia caught Omar’s eye. “Will you watch the senator? Make sure she doesn’t go into shock.”

  “No problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  She left the senator staring at the blood spreading across the towel and followed Trent.

  He searched her face. The intensity of his gaze seared her skin.

  “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” His voice caught on the words.

  “I’m fine. I promise. But the senator needs medical attention.”

  “I know, we have to get an ambulance here—and the authorities. I’ll go down to the road to get a signal.”

  “We can call from the aide’s cell phone,” she said bitterly. “He has an illegal satellite phone.”

  “Illegal?”

  “It’s a QL product. It’s a crime to possess one in the United States.”

  Something sparked in his eyes. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe nothing. But the guys who used your front windows for target practice are the idiots from the alley.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. They got back on their feet awfully fast, didn’t they?”

  Olivia eyed Senator Anglin and her aide. “Almost like they had some help.”

  “Mm-hmm. And the one guy’s cell phone rang while we had them trussed up in the SUV. Omar told him to answer the call and act normally. He did.”

  “That’s who Braden called? One of the CNI guys?”

  Trent nodded.

  She began to piece together a story. “So the senator’s working with Mexican foreign intelligence and QL. When I reported that the Mexican government was honoring its promise not to erect QL cell phone towers despite the economic impact, QL must have reached out to moles in the Mexican government and ours with bribes.”

  “And you were standing in the way of that, so you needed to go.”

  “So they concocted a story that made me look suspicious and put the pieces in motion to have me … eliminated.”

  “Or at least sidelined.”

  They fell silent. Olivia was considering how close they’d come to succeeding. Judging by Trent’s expression, so was he.

  “Well, hell,” she finally exclaimed.

  “You said it.”

  Motion out on the deck registered in Olivia’s peripheral vision, and she turned to see Elle waving at her, an upraised wine glass in her other hand. She giggled. Trent followed her line of vision.

  “Your friend is something else.”

  “She is,” Olivia agreed. Then comprehension hit her in the face. “We have to get her out of here before the CIA comes roaring in. Trent, I can’t let Marielle get swept up in—”

  “I’ve got it covered.”

  “You do?”

  “I do. Omar needs to make himself scarce, too. The involvement of a DEA agent would raise too many questions.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  “Omar will take Marielle home in her little orange car. Given the night she’s had and the dent she’s put in that bottle of Chianti, she shouldn’t be driving anyway. He’ll leave his Suburban and the CNI guys here and call a friend of ours to pick up the SUV and the agents. And, I guess I’m driving Marie back to the race club after all.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “Marie?”

  “The Porsche.”

  “Right, of course. Who’s this friend of yours?”

  “Ryan Hayes. He’s an Assistant U.S. Attorney. He and Omar are tight. They grew up on the same street. He’ll make sure that you come out of this all right, Olivia—that we all do. You can trust him.”

  His gold-tinged eyes shone with concern, and her heart squeezed in her chest.

  “Okay,” she said simply.

  It wasn’t as if she had any other options. But it was more than desperation: she did trust him.

  He reached for her. She felt herself leaning forward, yearning toward him. Then he stopped. His hand hovered in the air for a long moment until he closed his fist and pulled it back.

  “Will you be okay alone until backup gets here? The CNI guys aren’t going anywhere, and I don’t think the senator and her
aide will give you any trouble.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Her voice sounded brittle to her own ears.

  But Trent didn’t react. He turned and gestured for Omar to follow him, then he headed out to collect Elle from the porch. Once she heard the loud thrum of the Porsche’s engine roaring to life, Olivia picked up her gun from the floor and collapsed into the chair across from Senator Anglin to wait for the police.

  16

  Olivia curled up on the molded plastic chair, snuggled under the thin scratchy blanket the paramedics had draped over her shoulders at the scene, and squeezed her eyes shut against the glaring white overhead light. She willed herself to sleep.

  Sleep was an operative’s best friend—a well-rested mind and body were faster, stronger, better. And there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about her situation other than rest. So she stilled her mind, slowed her breathing, and drifted off into a heavy, dreamless slumber.

  She awoke to the sound of the interview room’s metal door dragging across the linoleum. She straightened to a sitting position, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and shook herself to immediate alertness. The door thudded against the wall, and a balding, yawning deputy entered the room followed by a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a suit and tie. The man, who looked like a lawyer dreamed up by central casting, clutched a briefcase in one hand, and a travel mug of coffee in the other.

  “Ms. Santos?”

  “Yes.”

  He crossed the room and thrust the coffee at her. “I’m Assistant U.S. Attorney General Ryan Hayes. I’m told you take it black.”

  She stared at the metal travel mug as if she’d never seen a to-go cup before. “Who told …?” There was only one person who could’ve. Which meant Trent was okay. She let out a long, shaky breath.

  The attorney watched her impassively from behind his Clark Kent glasses. He looked an awful lot like Clark Kent, actually. Big but gentle. Clean-cut and quiet. It was hard to imagine this guy hanging out with Trent and Omar.

  She mustered a tremulous smile and took a long, grateful sip of the hot elixir. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He turned to the sleepy deputy. “Art, thanks for taking care of my star witness while I made arrangements for her.”