5:09 p.m.; Dallas, Texas
Aaron Hardy reclined in a lounge chair near the outdoor pool at the Ritz-Carlton. The late afternoon sun felt good on his face and bare chest. Contemplating another dip in the pool, he flinched when his satellite phone vibrated on the glass-top table to the right. After swiping a forefinger across the screen, he typed in his password. A new text message appeared from a contact named ‘Boss.’ Hardy’s eyebrows furled downward after he read the short message from Phillip Jameson—‘GO WITH CRUZ.’ Go where?
Still holding the sat phone, he turned his head to the left and observed the woman lying on her stomach in the chair next to him, her arms resting at her sides. She wore a white two-piece bathing suit, the strings of the bikini-style bottom tied at the hips. Her hair was dark and long, matching the skin tone and length of her legs. She was beautiful.
FBI Special Agent Raychel DelaCruz rolled onto her back and got comfortable. Her dark sunglasses blocked the sun, while it made its descent to her left. She closed her eyes and let the sun darken her body. She was Caucasian, but her mixed heritage made the color of her skin darker. She was glad she and Hardy had been able to get away for a few days. After driving from Washington D.C. to Dallas, they had taken Saturday to rest. After a late breakfast on Sunday, they spent the afternoon at a Dallas Cowboys football game. It was mid-September and the Cowboys were hosting the Detroit Lions. Having grown up in Dalhart, a couple of hours north, she had been a lifelong Cowboy's fan. Unfortunately, since she lived and worked in Washington, D.C., finding time to attend a game had become a challenge.
Today, following some light shopping, she and Hardy had spent most of the afternoon by the pool, alternating between sunbathing and swimming. In an hour, they would be travelling to Dalhart to visit her mother. Right now, however, all she wanted was to relax and spend time with Hardy.
A moment later, she heard a familiar song playing—‘Holy Spirit’ by Francesca Battistelli. I thought I silenced that. Removing her sunglasses, she scooped the phone off the table. Since she was going to be on vacation for the next week, it seemed appropriate to change the ringtone on the device to a song by one of her favorite artists.
She tapped the screen and brought the mobile to her ear. “Special Agent Cruz.” Even though her real name was DelaCruz, everyone close to her called her Cruz. She had received the name during her time in the military. Her fellow soldiers had joked with her and said that pronouncing her full name was too difficult. They shortened it to Cruz.
"Cruz, it’s Director Jameson. I'm sorry to bother you while you're on vacation, but I need you for a 'pick-up and delivery' mission."
Cruz sat up and scooted further back in the lounge chair.
"One of the FBI's safe houses in Texas was breached. To my knowledge, all of the agents were killed."
She closed her eyes and put her free hand against her forehead.
"They were protecting a witness in a murder case. One agent was able to get the witness out in time, but he died a short time later."
"Where’s the witness?"
"She's at an Overland Steakhouse near DeSoto. Where are you now?”
"I know the place. I’m close, maybe thirty minutes away." Cruz paused. "With all due respect, why didn't you send some agents from the Dallas field office? They could be on-scene within minutes."
"I have no idea how the safe house was breached. Only a handful of people knew the witness’s whereabouts. That means we may have a leak in Dallas. I need someone I can trust to pick her up."
"I understand, sir. I'll leave right away."
"I'll send you the GPS coordinates for the new safe house. As we speak, I'm putting together a team of handpicked men to meet you there. They will take control of the situation."
“Yes, sir.”
"Oh, and take Hardy with you, Cruz."
Her body stiffened. How does he know I’m with Hardy? She and Hardy had been dating for two months, but she had never mentioned that fact to anyone at work. "Sir, I don't think I should take a civilian into a potentially hostile situation. What if something happens and—"
"I understand your concerns, Cruz, but Hardy has proven he can handle himself." Jameson was referring to the incident two months ago that had brought Hardy and her together. Their actions had been instrumental in bringing a corrupt Senator to justice and finding the men responsible for killing Hardy's Special Operations teammates in an explosion in Washington D.C. "Besides, you need backup, in case anything does happen."
She protested, "Sir—"
"Cruz, take Hardy. That's an order. If there’s any fallout, I’ll take the heat. Call me when you get to the safe house." Jameson ended the call without giving her a chance to respond.
Hardy watched Cruz. She stared at her phone for a few seconds before her dark brown eyes settled on him; the long black eyelashes curled toward the sky, fluttering down and up when she blinked. She wanted to say something, but she was distracted. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. She had a long face with high cheekbones and a flawless complexion. Her hair fell below her shoulders. Looking at him with her head tilted to her left, the left half of her hair cascaded over her shoulder, covering half of the upper part of her bathing suit, stopping below her breast.
“How would you like to take a little road trip?” She swung her leg over the chair and rose to her full height—five feet, eight inches.
Hardy tipped his head backward, following her as she stood. The afternoon sun, directly behind her, silhouetted her figure. Her legs were well toned and her narrow waist complemented the gentle curves of her hips. He smiled and gestured toward the pool. “I thought we were already on a road trip.”
Cruz reached to the right to grab the black cover-up, hanging over the back of her chair. She twirled the garment around her shoulders and slid her arms into the sleeves. The short-sleeved cover-up hid her bathing suit, but the hem stopped halfway down her thighs. After wrapping the attached sash around her waist and tying a loose knot, she motioned toward her phone. “That was my boss, Director Jameson. A witness in a murder case was almost killed in an attack on a safe house near here. I need to pick her up and get her to a new location.”
Hardy glimpsed his cell. The text message from Jameson became clear. Though he could not tell her, Jameson wanted Hardy to assist Cruz on the assignment.
For the past two months, Hardy held a top-secret position, created by the President of the United States. He reported directly to FBI Director Jameson. His official job title was Special Agent Consultant to the Director. The President had offered the job to Hardy after becoming aware of his involvement in the incident in July that Director Jameson had alluded to, earlier, during the phone conversation with Cruz. Only a few people knew what Hardy’s job entailed and she was not one of those people. She was unaware that both of them worked for the same man.
The first two months of Hardy and Cruz’s relationship had been somewhat stressful. He would be gone for several days, conducting missions around the world. When he returned, he and Cruz would have a great time together, until he got a call from Jameson and the process started all over again. Hardy was given a direct order not to divulge the details of his job to anyone.
She picked up her mobile. “It shouldn’t take too long, but I need to leave, immediately. Are you in?”
Hardy swung his legs to the left and stood. “I’m in. Let’s go.”