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Val stared down at the image on his phone, his conscience stabbing him with a hot blade. The face frozen on screen was young. Pretty.
And the eyes staring back at him were identical to someone else he’d known. Known well and trusted.
Her brother.
He shoved that aside along with the leaden weight of guilt currently sitting in the pit of his stomach. Jaia was a target now, whether he liked it or not. She had gone digging in places she shouldn’t, stolen intel that could get him and a lot of other people in a whole shitload of trouble.
The boss had laid it out clearly enough.
It’s either her, or us.
He clenched his jaw, tugged the brim of his ball cap down lower on his forehead, and pushed away from the side of the building he’d been leaning against, blending in with the foot traffic moving along the sidewalk. She wasn’t hard to spot, mostly because she resembled Sukhi so much.
He slowed his pace, watching her from the corner of his eye as she walked in the opposite direction across the street. She scanned the café, the crowd around her, her gaze moving right past him.
Val relaxed a little. She hadn’t seemed to recognize him. Maybe Sukhi hadn’t shown her any pictures of him before.
He paused again, pulled out his phone to alert his partner of her location, then stopped when he noticed the sudden change in her. She stiffened slightly. Darted a worried glance around her, then faced forward and hurried off at a quick pace up the street and didn’t look back.
Shit, Val groaned mentally, and texted his partner. Something spooked her. Following on foot.
For now. He would follow her wherever she went and take her at the first opportunity. The sooner he got her, the sooner he could finish this and try to put it all behind him.
****
Brandon sat in a booth at the rear of the café, his back to the wall so that he could see everyone who came in and out of the place. It was small enough for him to have a clear view across to the other side without leaving his seat, and located in a busy, pedestrian area near the center of downtown Portland. Lots of people around meant it was less likely anyone would try to kill either of them with so many witnesses around.
He kept his phone in his lap so he could immediately see any messages from Groz, who was outside keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, or the woman Brandon was meeting.
He’d texted her the meeting details early this morning, to give her only a small window of time to work with just in case he was dead wrong about her, and she was trying to organize a team to intercept him. She hadn’t responded, but he was assuming she’d received the message.
Ten minutes to go before the scheduled meeting time. He and Groz arrived an hour ago, parking their vehicles on opposite sides of the block, and then wandering around on foot to check the area beforehand.
He didn’t like being in this situation, hated the uncertainty of it all. But he hated the constant threat hanging over him more, and that’s why he was prepared to meet the woman.
His phone buzzed on his thigh. Single female heading your way.
He looked up just as the café door opened. A twenty-something woman with blond hair walked in, pausing to shake her wet umbrella outside.
She stepped in, her gaze sweeping over the tables, stopping on Brandon for only a split second before a big smile lit her face. She made a beeline for a couple three tables away from him, stooped to hug them both before sliding into her seat.
False alarm, he texted Groz, then looked toward the bank of windows lining the side of the place.
A steady rain was falling, beading the glass with tiny droplets. People hurried up and down the sidewalk out front, hunched into their jackets, hoods and hats pulled low to cover them. Hardly anyone had an umbrella, the mark of a native Pacific Northwesterner.
Over the next while, a handful of other people came in. Several couples, and two young families with toddlers. He glanced down at his phone again to check the time. Five minutes late.
He waited another ten minutes and messaged Groz. Anything?
Negative.
He bounced his knee up and down, getting antsy. Maybe she wasn’t going to show, and this had all been a waste of time and energy. Maybe she hadn’t planned to show at all, wanting to see what he did.
Ten minutes later, he picked up his phone and called the number she’d given him during their last contact. The call didn’t even connect. He tried sending a text. That was rejected too.
Mentally cursing, calling himself an idiot for ever thinking she’d been telling the truth, he stood, dropping five bucks onto the table. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he stepped around the table.
Pulse jumping, he yanked it out and saw another message from Groz.
Single female outside across the street. Second time she’s stopped at the corner. Might be casing the place. Black coat and hat.
Brandon glanced through the window, his gaze shooting past the people on the sidewalk and across the street to the opposite corner. More people were moving back and forth at the intersection, several women in hats and black coats.
His phone buzzed again. She’s on the move. I’m following her.
Brandon texted back. Where?
Groz didn’t respond, busy tailing her. Brandon exited the café and stepped out onto the sidewalk, tugging the brim of his ball cap down to shield his face from the rain and help obscure it if anyone else was looking for him.
He started south down the block, scanning ahead of him for Groz. His buddy was nowhere to be seen.
A minute later another message came in. She’s getting into a car. Gray compact. Turning west onto Jefferson. Heading for my car to follow.
The truck he’d rented the day before was parked a half block east of where he was. Going for my truck.
He jumped in and pulled out into traffic, making a sharp U-turn in the middle of the street. Ignoring the blast of angry horns, he turned right at the first street, heading for Jefferson, and called Groz. They both knew this city inside and out. “I’m two blocks from Jefferson. Do you still have her?”
“Yeah. I’m stuck at a light, but she’s still heading west—and I’m pretty sure she’s being tailed by a silver SUV.”
Shit. “Think they’re together?”
“From the erratic way the SUV is trying to catch up to her, my guess is no.”
Cold gathered in the pit of his stomach. Was she being targeted? “Got it.” He turned right onto Jefferson.
There was the SUV, and the gray car several vehicles ahead of it. The SUV was swerving in and out of traffic, trying to keep up. “I see them. They’re a block ahead of me.”
He dodged a slower vehicle, cut back in front, barely made it through the stale amber light at the next intersection. “Where are you?”
“The intersection behind you.”
He glanced in his rearview, spotted Groz’s Mustang behind some other traffic. The SUV up ahead was still heading in the same direction as the woman. “She must be heading for the 405. I’m going after them.”
If the woman was being hunted, he needed to help her.
JAIA STOPPED AT the traffic light and glanced down at her phone, guilt and indecision warring inside her. If Brandon had been waiting for her at the café, he was probably long gone by now.
She made a frustrated sound and set the phone down. She would call him later, once she wasn’t so rattled.
Arriving in Portland two hours ago, she had walked around the area surrounding the café before moving closer to it. Near the meeting time she had passed by it on the opposite side of the street to take another look, and some sixth sense had warned her something was wrong.
She hadn’t seen anyone watching or following her, but she could have sworn she felt eyes on her. Too spooked to approach the café, she had circled the block and come back from the opposite direction. When she’d gotten close again, she’d felt that same warning tingle in the pit of her stomach and made the decision to abort.
Even now, she couldn’t shake that awful sense that someone was watching her.
The traffic was heavy on this road leading to the 405. She glanced around, kept checking her mirrors, but in the constantly shifting flow of traffic it was impossible to tell if anyone was trying to follow her.
Up ahead, the traffic light turned green. Both cars in front of her began to inch forward, slowed by the lines of traffic trying to merge into the right-hand lane that led to the onramp a quarter mile down.
Just as she took her foot off the brake, she glanced in her left side mirror in time to catch a silver SUV veering into view. It cut aggressively across the double solid line into the oncoming lane before cutting in front of a car several vehicles behind her.
The warning tingle turned sharp, prickling across her skin. She moved up behind the vehicle in front of her but left room to maneuver, hands tightening on the wheel as she watched her mirrors.
The SUV cut into the bike lane against the shoulder and sped toward her.
Panic ripped through her.
She yanked the wheel to the right, veered into the shoulder lane and hit the gas. Her whole body was strung taut, operating on pure flight reflex as she swerved around a car trying to merge right, barely missing its bumper.
The traffic ahead was stopped. There was nowhere else to go and she dared not stop. The SUV was still coming after her, temporarily delayed by a tangle of cars left in her wake.
Heart pounding against her ribs, she kept going, desperately searching for a way out.
Up ahead, she spotted a break in the traffic, but it was on the other side of an intersection. The light was red.
Checking the rearview mirror, she spotted the SUV gunning after her, and knew she had no choice. “Oh, God, please,” she breathed, keeping her foot on the accelerator when every instinct she had screamed at her to stop.
She cringed as she blew through the red light, cried out and turned the wheel in a hard right to avoid a collision. Tires screeched, horns blared.
She quickly righted the wheel and kept going, fear beating at her. But the slight delay in avoiding the collision had cost her. The SUV had blown the light and was quickly gaining on her.
She swerved around the back end of a car trying to merge right and kept going, desperate to get just a little farther up so she could turn left at the next street. Finally reaching it, she angled the car and darted across three lanes of traffic.
The squeal of tires made her look in the mirror.
The SUV was already in the intersection, making the turn to follow.
Her gaze snapped forward again. Horror swamped her when she saw the pedestrians crossing the road in front of her. She laid on the horn to warn them and kept going.
People scattered in all directions, adding to the confusion. She was forced to hit the brakes as she reached the corner, took only a split second to check that it was clear, then roared around it and sped down the street.
The SUV was right behind her now. She swallowed a cry when a large truck suddenly turned in front of her. She stomped her foot on the brake and wrenched the wheel to the left by pure reflex.
The car skidded across the wet pavement, its back end sliding. It swung toward the opposite sidewalk. She only had time to brace and squeeze her eyes shut before the passenger side slammed into a light pole.
Jaia gasped as the airbag punched her in the face, the seatbelt jerking taut across her chest and shoulder. Pain registered through the shock, and then fear.
Get out. Get out!
Her fingers were clumsy and slow as she shoved at the deflating airbag and fumbled with the buckle of her seatbelt. A racing engine came close. Tires squealed close by.
Her heart shot into her throat. The SUV, the people in it would be here any second—
She managed to undo the belt. Reached for the door handle and pulled, unlocking it.
A blur of movement out of the corner of her eye made her jump.
Before she could move, the door ripped open. She shrank back, a scream building in her throat.
The scream died, shock flooding her as she stared up at Brandon Whitaker filling the doorway.
