THIS IS HOW it should have been from the beginning.
Signe and Ham, working together, hunting down a terrorist.
Saving lives.
Just like they had poor, sweet Caesar from the storm drain.
“Security has Tsarnaev leaving shortly after Jackson. It looks like he’s headed the other direction.” Ham braced one hand on the back of the security officer’s chair.
“See if you can pick him up outside,” Signe said. She had changed clothes into cargo pants, a flannel shirt over her T-shirt, and her Cons.
In the security room, Scarlett and Ruby Jane were trying to unlock the cell phone. Logan and York had taken Martin into another room, probably for interrogation.
Jake had gone to the hospital with Aria. Apparently, he’d taken a good blow to the noggin. Orion, too, needed stitches, and Jenny had ridden with him in the ambulance.
The ball hadn’t been evacuated—the news of the bomb threat diminished before Logan could galvanize his team.
Which meant that no one in Washington knew that Jackson and her alliances planned on dismantling the world order.
Or, at least, putting her in power after the untimely death of the president.
But she wasn’t going anywhere—not with her face on the world screen as she prepared to make yet another appearance at the Liberty Ball at the Washington Convention Center, this time with the president in attendance.
Surprise, surprise—he wasn’t assassinated by a rogue CIA bomber.
“There,” Signe said, looking over the shoulder of another security officer, badge name Erredge. “He’s headed down 14th, away from the Patriot.”
“Get me a map,” Ham said, but the first officer had already brought it up.
“If he’s headed down 14th, he might be going to the Marriott,” Ham said.
The door closed behind him and Ford had come in. “The JW Marriott?” He reached into his pocket. “Sorry. We took this off Martin.” He handed him a key card. “It’s from the Marriott.”
And bingo, Ham knew in his bones, it wasn’t a coincidence.
Signe looked at him, the same expression in her eyes. “Let’s go.”
He turned to Ford. “Get ahold of Logan and ask the Secret Service to meet us there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Yes, someday he wanted Ford on his team.
Ham followed Signe through the door.
They didn’t even bother to get an Uber, the air crisp and bright as they ran down the street, coatless. Just two blocks, and he wasn’t even breathing hard when they hit the lobby of the Marriott.
He grabbed Signe’s arm, however, before they reached the desk. “We have no weapons, no identification. How are we going to get in?”
“Who says we have no identification?” She pulled a dark red passport out of her pocket. “I brought it along, just in case.”
“Hunch. Stay here. And give me the key.”
He handed it to her, and she walked up to the desk, to a young woman.
“Hello. My husband asked me to meet him here. I have a key but no room number. Can you direct me?” She affected a slight accent, pulled out the key card, and opened her identification.
The woman swiped her card, checked her passport, and put the key in a new envelope, writing the number on the cover. “It’s a suite, but this card will get you into both rooms.”
“Can I get a copy? You know how it is—they’re so easy to lose.”
The woman coded another card and slipped it into the envelope.
“Thank you.”
She headed toward the elevator bank.
Ham followed her, stood behind her, and said nothing until they got inside.
She pushed the button for the eighth floor. Stood back. Breathed.
He faced her. “We should wait for the Secret Service, Sig.”
“No. We need to surprise him. If we wait, he could take Ruslan hostage and hurt him.” She flexed a muscle in her jaw.
Well, she knew this man better than he did. And no, Ham didn’t want to think about that, but in this case— “What’s the best way to do this?”
“I’m going to just go in.”
What? “Sig. What if he has an army in there?”
“He doesn’t. It’s just him. He never lets his men stay in the room with him. Just in case he wants company.”
Ham’s mouth tightened. “No. Have you lost your mind? No way am I letting you near this monster.”
“I’ll go in, distract him, and you get Ruslan.”
“Ho-kay, listen, I know you took down Orion, but this man—”
“Hurt me, attacked me, and terrorized me for years.” Her eyes darkened. “It’s my turn.”
She scared him a little.
No, a lot.
The elevator dinged and she shot him a look. “My way.”
“What if he has a gun?”
“Yeah, well, me too.” She reached behind her and pulled a gun from her belt, under her shirt.
And maybe he should have seen that, but it was dark and she was wearing a bulky, flannel shirt and—
No, he just didn’t expect it. Again. “Where did you get that?”
“Erredge. The security officer.”
“Signe—”
“Ham. Listen. I’m not going to shoot him. I’m just going to keep him away from Ruslan.” She touched Ham’s chest, put a foot in the door of the elevator to keep it from closing. “Let’s rescue my son.”
And what was he going to do with that?
He nodded and they headed down the hall.
She handed him a key card. “Go into the other room a second after me.”
How he hated it when he wasn’t in charge.
He positioned himself at the far door.
She slid the card into the door, hid the gun behind her back.
The door clicked, opened.
He dropped the key card into his door.
She disappeared inside.
His door clicked.
He opened it.
Tsarnaev—or who he assumed was the terrorist—sat on the bed staring at the television. He banged to his feet.
Ham crossed the room in two steps, grabbed him by the throat, and threw him onto the floor.
Apparently, he’d gotten the lucky room.
Tsarnaev swore at him but Ham had him down, his arm across his neck, his other in an arm bar.
Well, that was easy—
“Ham, back away from him.”
Signe stood near the door, the gun aimed at Tsarnaev.
“Shorty, what are you doing?”
She wasn’t shaking, her breaths were even, and she didn’t look in the least rattled.
Oh no, no—
“Signe—”
“I’m not going to let him go to trial, sit in prison, let him stir up more hate in our American prisons. He needs to die—”
“Sig, listen.” Ham got up, pinning Tsarnaev down with a foot in his neck, still holding his arm. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t you. You’re a mom. And a patriot. And a warrior. And smart and beautiful. But you’re not a killer.”
“Yes, she is,” Tsarnaev said, smiling. “She tried to kill me.”
“Too bad I didn’t succeed.”
“No, she’s not,” Ham said. “I should know.” He met her eyes. “Because I’m her husband.”
She drew in a shaky breath, and her eyes glistened.
“Mama?”
The voice came from behind her, and Signe turned to follow it. Put the gun down.
A little boy had emerged from the bathroom and now stood in the room in a pair of pajamas, a Thor T-shirt. Brown hair, slight build.
Ruslan.
With a roar, Tsarnaev turned, grabbed Ham’s ankle, and kicked him in the knee.
Ham caught himself on the dresser, but Tsarnaev had scrambled to his feet.
Tsarnaev picked up the lamp and threw it at Ham.
And that was just it.
Ham deflected the lamp, took two steps, and slammed his fist into Tsarnaev’s distorted face. He howled, and Ham sent him to the ground with a cross punch.
Tsarnaev hit his knees and Ham grabbed him around the neck, threw him down, slammed his foot into his spine, and held him there.
“Toss me that gun, Sig,” he said.
Her eyes widened, but she obeyed. He caught it, made sure a round was chambered, and pointed it at Tsarnaev’s head. “Maybe I should have let her shoot you, but I promise, you get up and I will.”
Signe had her arms around Ruslan, holding him to herself. His eyes were wide as he looked at Ham.
Cute kid. Reminded him of Aggie a little.
Of course he did. He was Signe’s son.
And maybe in time, his son too.
On the television, the Yankee Belles had just finished their song, the cameras panning to the stage wings for Vice President Jackson’s entrance.
Instead, Ham caught sight of President White. And behind him, Royal Benjamin.
He sure hoped Orion was watching.
The door banged open and Logan Thorne and a cadre of Secret Service agents charged into the room.
Ham let them have Tsarnaev and walked over to Signe. Put his arms around her.
“Would you really have shot him?” she asked.
“Would you?”
She smiled at him. “A girl has to have her secrets.”