“A grown man in puppy pajamas,” Scarlett murmured, settling into her seat beside Xander on a red-eye out of Tulsa. “Just because your pajamas are made of silk doesn’t make it okay to put whatever print you want on them.”
“I don’t know. I was tempted to ask where he bought them. I thought they were pretty sweet.”
Scarlett knew he was joking; Xander slept in the nude. “You’re getting soft in your old age,” she said, smiling. “You were never going to shoot that old man.”
“Not soft, just practical,” he scoffed. “Shooting people is messy work. I didn’t want to deal with the spatter. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, Williams is probably one of the good guys.”
“Yeah, he seems like it. And here I thought all politicians were self-serving assholes. Now I can’t just lump them all in one box. Pretty inconvenient.”
“Right?” Xander agreed, shifting in his seat. “I hate coach.”
Scarlett grinned. “Yeah, your long legs aren’t much for economy travel. You could’ve sprung for first class.”
“People pay attention to first-class passengers,” Xander replied with a grimace. “The least amount of attention we attract, the better.”
Just when she thought Xander couldn’t surprise her more, he did something else to make her see him a little differently.
“You’re damn smart,” she said.
“Should I be insulted by the surprise in your voice?”
Ahhh, confession time. “When we first met, I thought you were like many super soldiers—capable of following orders with extreme prejudice but not a deep thinker. Since getting to know you better, I’ve realized that you’re much more capable than I first thought.”
“I’m flattered—I think.”
“No, seriously, you have what it takes to be a supervisor or a team leader of your own unit if you wanted.”
“I don’t want,” Xander returned. “Being the boss has never been on my bucket list. Too many headaches, too many responsibilities. Plus, all the admin crap gives me a gut ache.”
Yeah, she could relate to that. “Paperwork is a giant drag,” she agreed. “But good leaders are hard to find. Sometimes our calling comes to us when we least expect it.”
“Cute,” he said, dismissing her suggestion. “You might want to get some shut-eye while you can. Stepping into Washington is going to be far more dangerous than Tulsa.”
And then Xander closed his eyes, prepared to follow his own advice. Within moments, he was lightly dozing.
Scarlett sighed. Why was she trying to give Xander career advice when neither of them knew if Xander was going to have a career to go back to? Maybe she just needed to believe that they were going to be successful.
She couldn’t stomach the idea of Xander going to prison.
Especially for a crime he hadn’t committed.
Damn corruption. Why did politicians have to be so shady?
Xander was right about Washington being a different ball game than Tulsa. There would be heightened security, more sharp-eyed law enforcement and FBI crawling all over the place.
They’d need someplace safe to hole up. Red Wolf had a few safe houses but she wasn’t sure if it was wise to use them. Another shithole motel was an option, but it would only be a matter of time before the FBI found them. With all the street cams and the FBI’s facial recognition software, it would be a miracle if they weren’t made simply going into a McDonald’s.
Aside from Conrad, her contacts in Washington were slim and she didn’t want to involve anyone else in case things went sour.
She glanced at Xander. Why did men look like angels when they were asleep? Scarlett wasn’t a delicate flower in her sleep. She drooled and probably snored, too. Funny, though, Xander didn’t seem to mind.
Xander just curled his big arm around her waist and pulled her into the cove of his body and that’s where she stayed, cozy as a bug in a rug.
And she’d never been a cuddler. Ever.
But somehow, being pressed against Xander was the most relaxing feeling she’d ever experienced.
They fit together. Not sure how that had happened but there was no denying it. The sex was epic—her cheeks flushed at the memory as her thighs twinged—and she didn’t want to give that up.
But if Xander was found guilty? She rubbed at her temple where a headache was threatening to form. They were up against impossible odds. A sane person would walk away, cut their losses and wish Xander luck. Clearly, Scarlett was crazy because the idea of walking was anathema to her.
So that meant one thing—she had to double her efforts to find whom McQuarry had been seeing behind closed doors.
Whoever this person was, they were powerful. Powerful enough to stage a bombing and place the blame elsewhere and cruel enough to consider innocent civilians as collateral damage.
She’d seen enough war to know that men and women in power often thought little of the lives it took to achieve their objective.
Which was why she’d gotten out of the military. At least in the private sector, the job was about the money and there was no subterfuge about motivation. Politicians were loath to admit that half the time they attacked another country it was for financial gain, preferring to wrap their reasons up with patriotic causes that were really an afterthought.
Xander was right; she needed to shut her brain down and get some sleep while she could. There was no telling what was going to happen once they reached DC.
For all she knew, all hell could break loose.
They arrived in DC at four in the morning, which was a benefit because they didn’t have as much traffic to deal with but it was cold and snow threatened in the forecast.
Hailing a cab, Xander decided in the short term it was best to find an out-of-the-way motel to hole up for the day until he could secure something else.
Scarlett nodded, agreeing, but they were both on edge. It was hard not to be paranoid. DC wasn’t exactly criminal-on-the-run friendly.
They checked into a seedy motel on the edge of town with an ironic name, The Presidential, and after securing the room, he suggested that they catch a few more hours of sleep.
His legs were stiff from being bent in one position for four hours and his back was killing him. He went into the bathroom to wash down a few pain meds away from Scarlett’s watchful eye but even as he swallowed the pills, his gut churned.
He wanted to be honest. God, if he could, he’d rather sit across from Scarlett and lay himself wide open but he couldn’t afford the luxury of penance. Not yet. Maybe if this all shook out the way they were hoping, he’d get that opportunity to spill his terrible secret but for now, he had to man up and soldier on.
Love these pep talks, man. Doing great.
Yeah, sure, if by doing great, he meant he was about to fall flat on his face in a mud puddle then, yep, doing fabulous.
Xander splashed some water on his face to rinse away the stale airplane air and returned to find Scarlett already curled up in the bed, lightly snoring.
His breath caught in his chest. He’d never tire of seeing her in his bed. She was hard as granite and yet, she had a tender side that he’d only caught stolen glimpses of. It was the stolen moments that pulled him in harder, even though he ought to be pushing back.
If he weren’t such a coward, he’d walk right now. Scarlett didn’t need his problems becoming hers. He leaned against the doorjamb, watching her sleep. As much as he knew the right thing to do would be to cut her loose, he also knew he wasn’t going to do it. Well, he’d already tried but she’d seen through his act and called him out on it.
Who wouldn’t fall for a woman like her?
He climbed into the bed and pulled her close, loving the smell of her hair as she nestled against him in her sleep.
Who would’ve thought that badass Scarlett Rhodes would be his cuddle bunny?
Certainly not him.
He allowed himself this moment of simple happiness. He was starkly aware of how precarious the moment was, especially since the FBI was now actively chasing them.
Well, chasing him.
An urgent need to make love to Scarlett nearly had his hands moving downward but he curbed his impulse. He wasn’t stupid. He knew why he felt desperate for a connection and he wasn’t going to subject Scarlett to his chaotic neurosis.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, to drift.
Half asleep, his mind went to Tulsa the day of the bombing. Of course, his memory was sketchy because of his stupid mistake but there had to be something he had overlooked.
Something that might help them find what they needed to bust this phony scam of a case wide open. The reality was neither he nor Scarlett were investigators—they were the hired guns—but they needed to think like detectives if they were going to come out the other side with anything worth saving.
What purpose would it serve to make a public spectacle out of closing a loose end?
Assuming that whoever was behind the bombing was the same man McQuarry had been seeing on the sly and was a powerful person in Washington, why draw attention to McQuarry’s murder?
Unless he was killing two birds with one stone?
What was currently happening in world events?
Xander mentally flipped through his mental cache of details that were hitting the headlines: gun control, Russian influence on American politics, smartphones destroying kids’ abilities to concentrate, street gang violence, international terrorism, the polar ice caps melting at an alarming rate... The list was endless.
But what did any of those have to do with McQuarry?
A bomb sent a message.
A bomb spread fear.
Fear caused people to react without thinking.
Creating fear was the most effective way to push an agenda that otherwise might’ve failed.
When the Twin Towers fell, the Patriot Act rose from the ashes like a phoenix, casting its eagle eye on the American people under the guise of offering protection against further terrorism; but in reality what it did was give the government carte blanche to spy on anyone it chose without needing proof of wrongdoing.
Bye-bye right to privacy. But hey, that’s the price of safety.
And the people, still shaking from the terror of the 9/11 attacks, gladly sacrificed their freedom for the illusion of safety because, let’s get real, there was nothing that could truly protect people from any and all threats.
However, people needed something to cling to and the government had been only too eager to provide that protection for the tiny price of sacrificing one right that they’d never even notice was taken.
So, if someone were trying to push an agenda what possible benefit could anyone have in creating fear in the American people, yet again?
Instability was a potent motivator.
Xander gently climbed from the bed, his mind fighting against the lethargic pull of the meds in his system.
There was something there—a tiny spark—that wouldn’t let him shut down, even though he desperately wanted to close his eyes and sleep for a few more hours.
Maybe they’d been thinking too small because the idea of a bigger threat was too overwhelming.
If McQuarry had been a pawn in a dangerous game of politics, the corruption could very well go straight up the chain.
Xander shivered at the implication. Only someone with deep resources could’ve framed Xander so neatly, using his past against him, transposing his fingerprints onto the explosives and accomplishing his objective with so little blood on his own hands.
Xander brewed a cup of subpar coffee and slugged it down to chase away the cobwebs in his brain. The bitter sludge made him chuckle silently. Scarlett wouldn’t touch this swill. For a tough soldier, she was surprisingly picky about her coffee.
Donning his jacket, he slipped out of the motel room. He needed to poke around and Scarlett needed quality coffee. Time to do as the politicians did and kill two birds with one stone.