Elite Ops: Easy Target Part 12

Tomas tipped his head. "That is kind of her. Maria was always a sweet girl. Is she still happily married to her farmer in Texas?"

Now Marcus did look uncomfortable. He wasn't interested in discussing his parents' marriage.

"Let's cut to the chase. I didn't even know of our 'relationship' until a week ago. I've come with a request from my mother. She'd like to see you."

"It's been twenty-five years, and she's never had much to say to me before now. Why the sudden interest? Does she want some kind of mention in my will?" Tomas heard the bitterness in his own tone but didn't bother to hide it.

He saw a barely perceptible wince in his nephew's eyes. "No, this has nothing to do with your will."

Rivera could tell by the way Marcus bit off the words that he'd have liked to add you son of a b.i.t.c.h to the end of that sentence.

"She's got lung cancer, Stage four. Just diagnosed. She . . . waited a while before she went to the doctor. They haven't given her much time. She's already under hospice care and would very much like to see you before she dies."

Rivera felt his chest tighten and was surprised at the emotion. Even now, nothing could have persuaded him to risk going to the U.S., except this.

Dying . . . Christ. First Carlita, now Maria. G.o.d absolutely had it in for him. He didn't allow the devastation to show as he sat staring down his nephew. He would go to the U.S., but only after certain precautions were in place.

"Perhaps we can work something out, but I need you to do something for me first."

"Why would I-" The young man stopped.

Although it was obvious he wanted to tell his uncle to go straight to h.e.l.l, love for his mother kept him rooted to the rickety cafe chair.

Marcus swallowed and gave an imperceptible nod. "I'm all ears. What can I do for you?"

Kingstree, South Carolina "WHAT? YOU'RE DEA?" Bryan heard Sa.s.sy's strangled whisper even as he cursed under his breath. The only other sound in the room was the radiator kicking on.

Dumbfounded, Bryan turned to stare at the fed, who was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Still reeling, he flipped on the radio by the stove, turned the volume up extra loud on a Hispanic station, and bent down to search the guy for wires, even though any wires would most likely have been dislodged during their brawl a few moments before. After making sure the guy was clean, Bryan led Sa.s.sy into the bathroom to have a little privacy.

By the time he'd partially shut the door, she was livid. "What is happening? I've not asked too many questions, but now I want to know it all, and I want to know now. Or I'm calling the police and turning myself in. So . . . talk."

She was right to ask. He knew that. The problem was, he didn't have answers for her yet. Nothing about the situation made sense.

The man in the hotel, the train crash, now this. G.o.d, how did he even begin to explain it? He couldn't. He barely had a handle on his own suspicions. And if he was right about half of what he suspected, he didn't have a lot of time to explain anything.

"Please, Sa.s.sy. Can you just get dressed so we can go someplace safe? I'm not sure how much time we've got."

"Time before what?" She narrowed her eyes. "Time before someone else shows up that you have to kill?"

He ignored the jab for now, even though it hurt. Did she really think he was some common killer?

"These guys must have some kind of backup, and when they don't report in . . ." He let the words hang, hoping she would agree to have her questions answered later. The obstinate expression on her face told him that was probably not happening.

He recognized the determined set of her jaw from years ago when Trey would try to boss her around in cla.s.sic big brother style. Bryan glanced out at the man still tied up in the seat and knew that despite the salsa music's volume, the DEA agent was straining to hear every word.

Sa.s.sy shook her head. "No way. I want answers, and I want them now before I go anywhere else with you."

"I don't have any answers. I've told you . . . everything."

She stared up at him in the tiny bathroom with lightning flashing in her storm-blue eyes, so close he could smell the scent of the floral shampoo she'd used. He was crowding her, but that didn't seem to bother her, even after everything she'd told him about Bobby Hughes.

He gazed down at her, and wrong as it was, he knew that the same longing was apparent in his eyes that had been there earlier when they'd been tangled on the floor of the bathroom. She searched his face with an intensity that had him feeling that same s.e.xual pull as before, but this time it was different, awkward for an entirely different reason.

Despite their "audience" in the other room, this felt more honest than most of his interactions with her, including what had happened between the two of them on the train, because she was no longer putting up such huge walls.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. He was a perverse dog to even think it, but his body was operating under a completely different mandate.

She shook her head imperceptibly. "No," she whispered. "Please don't."

And that was all it took to shut down the lizard part of his brain, or at least to stop his acting on it. Whatever had been going on and whatever he'd been thinking of doing were over. He refocused on her eyes and drew her farther into the bathroom, positioning himself so that he could still keep an eye on the man in the chair but keep her behind the bathroom door and out of the agent's line of sight.

"Sa.s.sy, I'm sorry, but I don't have answers for you."

"What is the DEA doing here?"

He shook his head. "No idea. But there's a warrant out for Gavin now with some very serious charges. Someone is intent on dismantling AEGIS or, at the very least, defaming the company to the point where no one will believe anything we say. I think the DEA guy out there is dirty or being run by someone who is."

"Who would he be working for?"

Bryan shook his head. "I'm a.s.suming it has to do with what we've been looking into with the s.e.x trafficking and perhaps even Elizabeth's disappearance. It's the only thing that makes much sense. But I can't piece all the parts together."

She nodded, her eyes no longer stormy but serious. "Where is Gavin now?"

"As far as I know, he's still in Africa with Marissa. I'm not sure that he'll be able to come back anytime soon. Unless he can enter the country covertly, he'll be arrested as soon as he lands in the U.S."

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"You get dressed, and we'll get out of here. I'll see about a car." There was no way they could wait on Bear with a dead man in the yard, but he wasn't going into all that.

"Can't we just take theirs?" she asked, motioning toward the door with her head.

Bryan nodded. "We could, but if it's an agency car, it may be LoJacked. I'll figure something out." He took a final look at that robe that was playing such h.e.l.l with his libido and his resolve to keep his hands to himself. "I never thought I'd say this, but please, Sa.s.sy. Get some clothes on."

He turned away before she could see his face, then added, "If we stay here much longer, we'll be in serious trouble on several levels."

He could feel her stare on his back.

"Alright. I'll get some clothes and change," she said.

He heaved a silent sigh of relief. Thank G.o.d.

He'd figure out what was happening with her later, but as for the DEA agent, Bryan needed to know who the guy was working for now. Not knowing who and what they were up against was going to get him and Sa.s.sy killed, sooner rather than later.

It wasn't Leland, he was sure of that. But someone Leland was in contact with?

Perhaps. And wasn't that just scary as h.e.l.l?

Bryan wanted answers as much as Sa.s.sy did, but he didn't have the time or the stomach to do what would be needed to gather any useful information from the man strapped in that chair. For now, he just needed to get Sa.s.sy out of here.

"THERE'S NO LOJACK, I swear," the DEA agent murmured. "You don't have to do this."

With a gun in his hand, Bryan leaned over the man and pressed the barrel into the guy's leg. "Who sent you after us?" His voice had an arctic chill.

"Don't make me do this," pleaded the agent. "He'll kill me."

Bryan shook his head. "Who sent you after us?" He repeated the question with a complete lack of emotion.

Sa.s.sy heard the words and recognized Bryan's voice, but her skin crawled as she watched him hold the muzzle of his weapon to the DEA agent's knee and never flinch. She'd just walked out of the bathroom in her Goodwill yoga pants, camisole, and sweatshirt.

"Why are you after us?" Bryan asked.

The agent was shaking his head. Bryan hadn't seen her yet. She was horrified and mesmerized at the same time.

"I don't want to do this, but you're not leaving me any choice. I need answers. You and I both know a government paycheck isn't enough to take a bullet to the kneecap. So tell me who sent you and why, or I'm pulling the trigger. And it won't matter how much they pay you, you'll be walking with a limp for the rest of your life. If you don't bleed out before they find you."

Sa.s.sy must have made an involuntary sound of some sort, because both men turned to her. Bryan's gaze lasered into hers. The tension was palpable; her heart thudded in the silence.

His eyes weren't cold, they were expressionless, as if he'd completely disconnected from his emotions. But as he stared at her they changed, filling with a new emotion she didn't recognize right away. He turned back to the man tied in the chair before she could identify what she'd just seen.

"Get your things together, Sa.s.sy. We're leaving now." Bryan's eyes refocused on the man, and he didn't look up again. For that she was grateful.

"Okay." She scooped her meager belongings into the top of Bryan's pack and slid their still-wet clothes from the washer into a plastic bag. Anxious to get out of the apartment, she picked up the backpack and headed for the door.

"Meet me in the garage," said Bryan.

"What are y-" She stopped herself from finishing the question.

Did she really want to know what he was about to do?

The two men from the DEA had killed Otis. They had tried to kill her and Bryan. She swallowed hard.

No, she didn't want to know. Instead, she opened the door and moved down the stairs. The sun was high in the sky, and it was a beautiful day. But the air was so cool, her breath made small puffs of white clouds as she exhaled walking down the stairway.

A four-door pickup was parked directly behind the gray sedan. Despite knowing he had to be there, she was stunned to see Otis's body sprawled on the lawn, as dead as the brown, winter-beaten gra.s.s.

She loathed the thought of Tilly seeing him like that. How could those men have done such a thing? In the garage, she pulled the drop cloth from the antique Riviera and started toward the body.

She was trying to avoid looking at Otis, yet she was morbidly drawn to looking at the same time, like pa.s.sing a car accident on the freeway.

"Sa.s.sy-" Bryan was beside her and physically turning her body away from Otis's before she could place the cloth over him. "We can't do that," he said.

She knew he was right, but she couldn't stomach the thought of leaving the man lying there dead in his yard for his wife to find.

Even so, Bryan was right. They couldn't and shouldn't do anything to compromise the scene, not with the murderers right upstairs. If and when this all got hashed out in a courtroom, leaving Otis where he lay-untouched-was probably the only way to prove Bryan's and her innocence.

"We're taking Otis's Riviera." Bryan steered her back into the garage. "I'd rather not because it's so distinctive. But I don't know if there's any kind of GPS on the DEA guys' vehicle, and they're blocking Otis's sedan. Since Tilly's not here yet, it might buy us some time before the vehicle is reported stolen."

"Is that guy up there alive or dead?

"What do you think?" Bryan pierced her with that expressionless gaze that was so unlike the man she thought she knew.

"That's the problem. I don't know what to think. About you. About any of this. What was going on up there? I need some answers, Bryan."

He nodded with that unnerving gaze. "I understand. I want answers, too. Let's get out of here first."

With no more explanation than that, he took his backpack from her, helped her into Otis's pride and joy, and tossed the pack into the backseat before climbing into the driver's seat himself.

"Wait, can't we leave a note for Tilly or something?" she asked.

Bryan raised an eyebrow and gave her an incredulous look. "Do you honestly think that will make any difference? We didn't ding the woman's car in a parking lot. Her husband is lying dead on their lawn. There's no way a note will smooth that over."

The words stung even though they were true. The situation sucked, but he was right. It would take more than a hastily written apology to help Tilly.

Not surprising, the keys were under the visor in the Buick. Otis must have thought the car was safe under a cover in his garage. As they backed out of the driveway, she forced herself to look away from his body and shut away the horror of what Tilly would find when she arrived home after an overly long shift at work. Moments later they were out of the neighborhood and on the interstate.

Bryan's deep voice broke the silence. "I need you to send a text for me."

"What?"

His eyes never left the road as he dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. "The last text stream . . . reply to it."

"I don't understand. Who do you want me to text?"

"Bear Bennett, my friend from Afghanistan that I told you about. He was going to come pick us up at Otis and Tilly's house later today. I need him to meet us somewhere else. Since I don't want to drive and text, do you think you could help me out?"

She would have laughed, but instead she was unexpectedly furious. "Let me get this straight. You killed a man in our hotel room in New York, our train was purposely sabotaged, and two men just tried to kill us back there at Otis and Tilly's, yet you won't text and drive because it isn't safe?" She heard the rising hysteria in her tone but couldn't stop herself.

Bryan turned stormy gray eyes on her for a moment before refocusing on the road. "That's right. I can't control much of the s.h.i.t show that's been happening since we landed in New York, but that's one thing I can control. So would you please help me out here?"

She took a deep sip of air. He was right, and her being a b.i.t.c.h wasn't going to help their situation. "What do you want me to text?"

Bryan's eyes never left the road. "Change of plans. Need to meet sooner and closer to you. Name the place."

The clack, clack, clack of the tires. .h.i.tting the seams in the asphalt was the only sound as Sa.s.sy typed the message. Within two minutes a text dinged back.

The Hot Pot is off US52 at State Road about ten minutes outside Charleston. I can be there at 3:30.

Sa.s.sy read the message from Bear and watched as Bryan visibly relaxed. Now seemed as good a time as any to ask questions. She was beyond frustrated at not having answers.

"Who were those men? Why were they after us? Please, Bryan. Help me understand."

He sighed and checked his rear-view mirror, otherwise keeping his eyes on the road. "All I know is that they worked for the DEA."

"Yes, I know that part." She kept her voice calm. If she lost it now, she'd never get answers. "But why would the DEA be coming after us? Do you think this has anything to do with Trey? Why would they have killed Otis?" She couldn't keep the accusation out of her tone as she spoke.

He locked his gaze on her a moment. "I don't know. Don't you understand? I have no f.u.c.king idea. People are dying because I don't know what the h.e.l.l is going on and I haven't been able to do anything to stop it so far."

His eyes, which had been so empty and emotionless earlier, filled with misery. She understood, but she couldn't back down even as the moment stretched out and he glanced away to focus back on the road.